The Ten o’Clock Bell 345

“Tt was a dog barking at somebody that’s ston-
ing it. I ken that sound, Hendry Munn.”

“« May I die the death, Tammas Whamond, if
a great drap o’ rain didna strike me the now,
and I swear it was warm. I’m for running
hame.”

“I’m for seeing who drove awa that dog.
Come back wi’ me, Hendry.”

“JT winna. There’s no a soul on the hill but
you and me and thae daffing and drinking gyp-
sies. How do you no answer me, Tammas?
Hie, Tammas Whamond, whaur are you? He’s
gone! Ay, then I’ll mak’ tracks hame.”

In the broom — a dog-cart

“Do you see nothing yet, McKenzie?”

“Scarce the broom at my knees, Rintoul.
There is not a light on the hill.”

“ McKenzie, can that schoolmaster have de-
ceived us?”

“It is probable.”

“ Urge on the horse, however. There is a
road through the broom, I know. Have we stuck
again?”

“Rintoul, she is not here. I promised to
help you to bring her back to the Spittal before
this escapade became known, but we have failed
to find her. If she is to be saved, it must be by
herself. I daresay she has returned already. Let
me turn the horse’s head. There is a storm
brewing.”

_ Twill search this gypsy encampment first, if
it is on the hill. Hark! that was a dog’s bark.