“Did ye see my auld man?”
“No.”
“Away wi’ ye, bairns,” said Mrs Mitchell quickly but quietly. “Oot by the back door an’ doon the burnside; they’ll niver see ye for the busses.”
“But, grannie, we canna leave you here alone,” remonstrated Jean with an anxious look.
“An’ I can fecht!” remarked Peter in a low voice, that betrayed neither fear nor excitement.
“The sodgers can do nae harm to me,” returned the old woman firmly. “Do my bidding, bairns. Be aff, I say!”
There was no resisting Mrs Mitchell’s word of command. Hastening out by the back door just as the troopers came in sight, Peter and his companions, diving into the shrubbery of the neighbouring streamlet, made their way to Black’s farm by a circuitous route. There the girls took shelter in the house, locking the door and barring the windows, while Peter, diverging to the left, made for the hills like a hunted hare.
Andrew was standing alone at his post when the lithe runner came in sight. Will Wallace had left him by that time, and was listening entranced to the fervid exhortations of Dickson of Rutherglen.
“The sodgers!” gasped Peter, as he flung himself down to rest.
“Comin’ this way, lad?”