'Me and Mrs. MacAlister not friends,' he said. 'Play her tricks.' Suddenly he began to laugh. 'Played her a fine trick, though; she never find out! Gibbie steal her letters when she and her husband had gone out to see Neil home. Door left open, no one see Gibbie—clever Gibbie!'
'Wait, Gibbie,' interrupted Hamish; 'I'm going to fetch something for you,' and he made off downhill with all speed.
Dr. MacGregor was just driving home from a night visit to a patient when his son dashed into the road, spattered with mud and with the water squelching from his boots.
'Father,' said Hamish, 'come with me; I've found out who robbed the post-office,' and throwing the reins to his groom, the astonished doctor was dragged all the way to the gipsy's burrow.
'Hullo, Gibbie, you look cold,' said the doctor, taking in the situation with great presence of mind; 'come with me and have a glass of something hot.'
Sitting by the fire in the nearest cottage, with a glass of steaming toddy in his hand, Gibbie became communicative, and the doctor soon drew from him the rest of the story.
'Neil's a good lad,' said the gipsy. 'Neil knows how to behave to a Romany chel; drives away bad boys when they laugh and throw stones. Gibbie gave Neil a present; two presents; something out of the letters. Neil will find it in his coat pocket some day. Papers worth a hundred pound.'
'All right, Gibbie,' said the doctor craftily; 'suppose we go and tell Neil that you put them there. He may not have been able to find them yet.'
Dr. MacGregor's tired horse was withdrawn from its feed, and Hamish, his father, and Gibbie set out for Ardnavoir.
'Neil's cleared,' announced Hamish; and every one turned round to encounter the strange-looking figure of the gipsy.