At the lodge-gate was M'Adam, for once without his familiar spirit, playing with the lodge-keeper's child; for the little man loved all children but his own, and was beloved of them. As the Master approached he looked up.
“Weel, Moore,” he called, “and are you gaein' to tie yer dog?”
“I will if you will yours,” the Master answered grimly.
“Na,” the little man replied, “it's Wullie as frichts the Killer aff the Grange. That's why I've left him there noo.”
“It's the same wi' me,” the Master said. “He's not come to Kenmuir yet, nor he'll not so long as Th' Owd Un's loose, I reck'n.”
“Loose or tied, for the matter o' that,” the little man rejoined, “Kenmuir'll escape.” He made the statement dogmatically, snapping his lips.
The Master frowned.
“Why that?” he asked.
“Ha' ye no heard what they're sayin'?” the little man inquired with raised eyebrows.
“Nay; what?”