"Well, good-bye, Auntie Phemie," he said. "I'm sure you've been
awful kind to me, and I don't know how to thank you for all
you're sending."

"Tuts, Dickson, my man, they're hungry folk about Glesca that'll be
glad o' my scones and jeelie. Tell Mirren I'm rale pleased wi' her
man, and haste ye back soon."

The trunk was deposited on the floor of the cart, and Dickson
clambered into the back seat. He was thankful that he had not to sit
next to Dobson, for he had tell-tale stuff on his person. The morning
was wet, so he wore his waterproof, which concealed his odd tendency to
stoutness about the middle.

Mrs. Morran played her part well, with all the becoming gravity of an
affectionate aunt, but as soon as the post-cart turned the bend of
the road her demeanour changed. She was torn with convulsions of
silent laughter. She retreated to the kitchen, sank into a chair,
wrapped her face in her apron and rocked. Heritage, descending,
found her struggling to regain composure. "D'ye ken his wife's name?"
she gasped. "I ca'ed her Mirren! And maybe the body's no' mairried!
Hech sirs! Hech sirs!"

Meanwhile Dickson was bumping along the moor-road on the back of
the post-cart. He had worked out a plan, just as he had been used
aforetime to devise a deal in foodstuffs. He had expected one of
the watchers to turn up, and was rather relieved that it should be
Dobson, whom he regarded as "the most natural beast" of the three.
Somehow he did not think that he would be molested before he