Sabbath school.'

Night fell as we came to the broomy spaces of the links, and
ere we had breasted the slope of the neck which separates
Kirkcaple Bay from the cliffs it was as dark as an April evening
with a full moon can be. Tam would have had it darker. He
got out his lantern, and after a prodigious waste of matches
kindled the candle-end inside, turned the dark shutter, and
trotted happily on. We had no need of his lighting till the Dyve
Burn was reached and the path began to descend steeply
through the rift in the crags.

It was here we found that some one had gone before us.
Archie was great in those days at tracking, his ambition
running in Indian paths. He would walk always with his head
bent and his eyes on the ground, whereby he several times
found lost coins and once a trinket dropped by the provost's
wife. At the edge of the burn, where the path turns downward,
there is a patch of shingle washed up by some spate. Archie
was on his knees in a second. 'Lads,' he cried, 'there's spoor
here;' and then after some nosing, 'it's a man's track, going
downward, a big man with flat feet. It's fresh, too, for it
crosses the damp bit of gravel, and the water has scarcely filled
the holes yet.'

We did not dare to question Archie's woodcraft, but it
puzzled us who the stranger could be. In summer weather you
might find a party of picnickers here, attracted by the fine hard
sands at the burn mouth. But at this time of night and season
of the year there was no call for any one to be trespassing on