A rapping at the front door was the first thing that recalled us to the necessity for action.
“Is it drownded ye all are, Muster Lumley?”
It was the voice of Donald Bane.
“Not quite,” cried Lumley, with a laugh and a shiver. “Come in, Donald.”
“Ay, ay, sur, I would come in if I could, but the door won’t open.”
“Shove hard, Donald.”
“I wull, sur. Here, Shames, lend a hand.”
We heard both the Highlanders put their broad backs against the door and groan in Gaelic as they heaved, but they might as well have tried to lift the house. They caused the door to crack, however.
“Wheesht! What’s that Shames?”
“We’ve splut the toor, Tonald.”