"Ye're nae woman in a boat, but ye're a braw whistler, and I'll tak' your papers!"
"IT WAS THE MAN SENT BY ARNOLD."
It was the man sent by Arnold,—old Tom MacAlister.
"Take them, Tom, and away with them quick, for God's sake!" cried Dick, handing them to him.
"But ye're hurt, lad!" cried Tom, thrusting the papers deep into an inner pocket.
"The devil I am!" lied Dick. "Only slipped on the snow. You save those papers, or all my work will go for naught! I'll get my wind and follow! Go, Tom! The papers first, don't you understand? I'll have my breath before those fellows can nab me!" And Dick raised one knee, as if already about to rise.
"Vera weel, lad!" said old Tom, compliantly, and plunged forward to round the point of Cape Diamond and follow the shore up the river. The sight of his gaunt figure, swiftly receding in the snow and night, between river and cliffs, was the last glimpse Dick had of Tom, the piper's son, for many a long day.