Five minutes later Dickson walked into Mrs. Morran's kitchen,
where Heritage was busy making up for a day of short provender.

"I'm for Glasgow to-morrow, Auntie Phemie," he cried. "I want you
to loan me a wee trunk with a key, and steek the door and windows,
for I've a lot to tell you."




CHAPTER VI


HOW MR. McCUNN DEPARTED WITH RELIEF AND RETURNED WITH RESOLUTION


At seven o'clock on the following morning the post-cart, summoned by
an early message from Mrs. Morran, appeared outside the cottage.
In it sat the ancient postman, whose real home was Auchenlochan,
but who slept alternate nights in Dalquharter, and beside him Dobson
the innkeeper. Dickson and his hostess stood at the garden-gate,
the former with his pack on his back, and at his feet a small stout
wooden box, of the kind in which cheeses are transported, garnished
with an immense padlock. Heritage for obvious reasons did not appear;
at the moment he was crouched on the floor of the loft watching the
departure through a gap in the dimity curtains.

The traveller, after making sure that Dobson was looking, furtively
slipped the key of the trunk into his knapsack.