He opened the gate and entered.
He went straight to the right-hand window, and, wetting his forefinger, rubbed it up and down on the pane.
The noise it made was enough to awaken some one inside, for presently there was a cough, and a voice said—
“Who’s there?”
“It is I, Andrew: rise, I want to speak to you.”
“Man! is it you, Harry? I’ll be out in a jiffy.”
And sure enough a light was struck and a candle lit. Harry could see poor faithful Andrew hurrying on his clothes, and in two minutes more he had opened the door and admitted his young friend.
“Man! Harry,” he said, “you scared me. You are early on the road. Have ye traps set in the forest? D’ye want me to go wi’ ye?”
“No such luck, Andrew,” replied the boy. “I’ve no traps set. I won’t see the forest for many a long day again.”
“Haud your tongue, man!” cried Andrew, looking very serious and pretending to be angry. “Haud your tongue. Are ye takin’ leave o’ your reason? What have ye in that bag? Why are ye no dressed in the kilt, but in your Sunday braws?”