CHAPTER VIII


HOW A MIDDLE-AGED CRUSADER ACCEPTED A CHALLENGE


The first cocks had just begun to crow and clocks had not yet
struck five when Dickson presented himself at Mrs. Morran's back door.
That active woman had already been half an hour out of bed, and was
drinking her morning cup of tea in the kitchen. She received him
with cordiality, nay, with relief.

"Eh, sir, but I'm glad to see ye back. Guid kens what's gaun on at
the Hoose thae days. Mr. Heritage left here yestreen, creepin' round
by dyke-sides and berry-busses like a wheasel. It's a mercy to get
a responsible man in the place. I aye had a notion ye wad come back,
for, thinks I, nevoy Dickson is no the yin to desert folk in trouble....
Whaur's my wee kist?....Lost, ye say. That's a peety, for it's
been my cheesebox thae thirty year."

Dickson ascended to the loft, having announced his need of at least three
hours' sleep. As he rolled into bed his mind was curiously at ease.
He felt equipped for any call that might be made on him. That Mrs. Morran
should welcome him back as a resource in need gave him a new assurance
of manhood.

He woke between nine and ten to the sound of rain lashing against