70 The Little Minister

“You had to pick yourself up first,” suggested
the officer.

“Sal, it was the lassie picked me up; ay, and
she picked up a horn at the same time.”

“¢« Blaw on that,’ she cried, ‘and alarm the
town. But, sheriff, I didna do’t. Na, I had
ower muckle respect for the law.”

“In other words,” said Halliwell, “you also
bolted, and left the gypsy to blow the horn
herself.”

“1 dinna deny but what I made my feet my
friend, but it wasna her that blew the horn. I
ken that, for I looked back and saw her trying to
do’t, but she couldna, she didna ken the way.”

“Then who did blow it?”

“The first man she met, I suppose. We a’
kent that the horn was to be the signal except
Wearywarld. He’s police, so we kept it frae
him.”

“That is all you saw of the woman?”

“Ay, for I ran straucht to my garret, and
there your men took me. Can I gae hame
now, sheriff?”

“No, you cannot. Describe the woman’s
appearance.”

“She had a heap o’ rowan berries stuck in her
hair, and, I think, she had on a green wrapper
and a red shawl. She had a most extraordinary
face. I canna exact describe it, for she would be
lauchin’ one second and syne solemn the next. I
tell you her face changed as quick as you could
turn the pages o’ a book. Ay, here comes
Wearywarld to speak up for me.”

Wearyworld entered cheerfully.