The blaze was yet shining across the grey morning sky, when they retreated to their fastnesses at the head of Loch Katrine, by the wild way of Loch Arclet, whither MacGregor believed the bravest men in the castles of Stirling or Dumbarton dared not follow him!
CHAPTER XXX.
THE FIGHT AT ABERFOYLE.
The little boy found at Inversnaid was kindly and tenderly received by Helen MacGregor, who made him share the heather-couch of her youngest son, Duncan, a hardy little Highland colt, who was about the same age as the yellow-haired Saxon. The arrival of the latter created great speculation in the small clachan or farm-town of Portnellan; but the poor boy, accustomed to other sights and sounds than those around him now, was scared and terrified by the aspect of the Highlanders, and mourned for his father and for the soldiers among whom he had been reared, and clung to the skirts of Helen MacGregor as his only protectress.
However, as children so young have but shallow griefs and short memories, a few days found him quite reconciled to his fortune, to little Duncan as a bedfellow and playmate; and he learned to sup his porridge with a horn spoon from a large wooden trencher, and to make a companion of the stag-hounds, collies, and otter-terriers, that shared the fireside and sitting-room of the family of Portnellan.
"Alas!" said Helen, one evening, as she sat with the little stranger on her knee; "this fair boy is too sweet, too good and beautiful to find a proper place on earth."
"How—what mean ye, goodwife?" asked Rob, with displeasure.
"Such children never live to comb grey hairs."
"Say not so, Helen," said Rob, impressed by her manner.
"I would the youngling was with his own people. I judge of their sufferings by what I myself have suffered," said Helen, with a sigh.