“I think it’s coming down now,” said Miss Kitty.
But in a quarter of a minute, Cocky had sailed a quarter of a mile, and was rocking himself on the top of an old willow tree. And at this moment John Broom joined the crowd which followed him.
“I’m thinking he’s got his chain fast,” said the farm-bailiff; “if anybody that understood the beastie daured to get near him——”
“I’ll get him,” said John Broom, casting down his hat.
“Ye’ll get your neck thrawed,” said the farm-bailiff.
“We won’t hear of it,” said the little ladies.
But to their horror, John Broom kicked off his shoes after which he spat upon his hands (a shock which Miss Kitty thought she never could have survived), and away he went up the willow.
It was not an easy tree to climb, and he had one or two narrow escapes, which kept the crowd breathless, but he shook the hair from his eyes, moistened his hands afresh, and went on. The farm-bailiff’s far-away heart was stirred. No Scotchman is insensible to gallantry. And courage is the only thing a “canny” Scot can bear to see expanded without return.
“John Broom,” screamed Miss Betty, “come down! I order, I command you to come down.”
The farm-bailiff drew his speckled hat forward to shade his upward gaze, and folded his arms.