1OO ° The Little Minister

pushing his plate from him. “Jean, answer
me.

“’Deed, then,” said Jean, willingly, “they
hinna ta’en her to Tilliedrum.”

“ Ror what reason?” asked Gavin, his dread
increasing.

‘¢ For the reason that they couldna catch her,”
Jean answered. ‘She spirited hersel’ awa’, the
magerful crittur.”

“ What! But I heard you say —”

“ Ay, they had her aince, but they couldna
keep her. It’s like a witch story. They had her
safe in the town-house, and baith shirra and cap-
tain guarding her, and syne in a clink she wasna
there. A’ nicht they looked for her, but she
hadna left so muckle as a foot-print ahint her,
and in the tail of the day they had to up wi’ their
tap in their lap and march awa without her.”

Gavin’s appetite returned.

“Flas she been seen since the soldiers went
away?” he asked, laying down his spoon with
a new fear. ‘“ Where is she now?”

“* No human eye has seen her,” Jean answered,
impressively. ‘“ Whaur is she now? Whaur does
the flies vanish to in winter? We ken they’re
some gait, but whaur?”

** But what are the people saying about her?”

“ Daft things,” said Jean. “Old Charles Yuill
gangs the length o’ hinting that she’s dead and
buried.”

“She could not have buried herself, Jean,”
Margaret said, mildly.

“| dinna ken. Charles says she’s even capable
oO that.”