come to you. Come doon by, an' i' the scoug o' a rock, I'll tell
ye a' aboot it."

"Ye wadna ha'e the mistress no ken o' 't?" said his friend. "I
dinna jist like haein' secrets frae her."

"Ye sall jeedge for yersel', man, an' tell her or no just as ye
like. Only she maun haud her tongue, or the black dog 'll ha'e a'
the butter."

"She can haud her tongue like the tae stane o' a grave," said Peter.

As they spoke they reached the cliff that hung over the shattered
shore. It was a clear, cold night. Snow, the remnants of the last
storm, which frost had preserved in every shadowy spot, lay all
about them. The sky was clear, and full of stars, for the wind
that blew cold from the northwest had dispelled the snowy clouds.
The waves rushed into countless gulfs and crannies and straits
on the ruggedest of shores, and the sounds of waves and wind kept
calling like voices from the unseen. By a path, seemingly fitter
for goats than men, they descended halfway to the beach, and under
a great projection of rock stood sheltered from the wind. Then
Malcolm turned to Joseph Mair, commonly called Blue Peter, because
he had been a man of war's man, and laying his hand on his arm
said:

"Blue Peter, did ever I tell ye a lee?"

"No, never," answered Peter. "What gars ye speir sic a thing?"