"'Cause the flag's fleein'. Whaur is he?"
"Gin ye ken sae muckle aboot him already, ye can jist fin' him to yersel'!"
"The bick's oot!" panted Linkum.
But Mary shut the door.
"Here's a job!" said Linkum to himself. "I canna gang throu a steekit door. And there's Juno wi' the rin o' the haill toun. Deil tak her!"
But at the moment he heard Alec whistling a favourite tune, as he shovelled away at the snow.
"General!" cried Linkum, in ecstasy.
"Here!" answered Alec, flinging his spade twenty feet from him, and bolting in the direction of the call. "Is't you, Linkum?"
"She's oot, General."
"Deil hae her, gin ever she wins in again, the curst worryin' brute!
Did ye gang to Curly?"