"Billy Little, let me in."
Billy ran to unlock the front door, crying: "Come in, come in, God bless my soul, come in. Maxwelton's braes are bonny, bonny, bonny. Tell me, are you alone?"
"Yes, Billy, I'm alone, and I fear they will follow me. Hide me somewhere. But you'll freeze without your coat. Go and—"
"Bless me, I haven't my coat and waistcoat on. Excuse me; excuse—Maxwelton's—I'll be out immediately." And the little old fellow scampered to his bedroom to complete his toilet. Then he lighted a candle, placed wood on the fire, and called Rita back to his sanctum sanctorum. She was very cold; but a spoonful of whiskey, prescribed by Dr. Little, with a drop of water and a pinch of sugar, together with a bit of cheese and a biscuit from the store, and the great crackling fire on the hearth, soon brought warmth to her heart and color to her cheeks.
"What are you going to do with me now you've got me? They will come here first to find me," she asked, laughing nervously.
"We'll go to Dic," said Billy, after a moment's meditation. "We'll go to Dic as soon as you are rested."
"Oh, Billy Little, I—I can't go to him. You know I'm not—not—you know."
"Not married? Is that what you mean?"
"Yes."
"I'm mighty thankful you are not. Dic's mother is with him. It will be all perfectly proper. But never mind; I have another idea. I'll think it over as we ride."