She wondered if what Uncle Julian said could indeed be true—that though the men's secret of the heather ale had been lost, the women of the Picts would keep theirs and whistle men to heel, as sheep-dogs follow their masters. Uncle Julian said that she had in her the blood of Boadicca, who once on a day was a queen of the Picts far to the south.
But, after all, Uncle Julian jested so often, even when he appeared most serious, that you could not tell whether he meant it or no.
It would be nice if it were true, thought Patsy, but, after all, just because Uncle Julian said so did not make it true.
"Your daughter, sir," said Lieutenant Everard, half an hour later, "has aided the escape of three young men, all deeply implicated in breaking the laws of the land."
It was in the ancient hall of Cairn Ferris that Adam, tall, black and solemn, was receiving unexpected visitors. The hall, oak-beamed and still lighted mainly by tall, narrow windows, originally slotted for arrow and blunderbuss, was discouraging for men in search of the support of a modern justice of the peace.
The chief of a clan, some of whose members had been cattle-lifting, might have received them so.
"What men? What laws?" demanded Adam Ferris.
"The young men Garland, sons of one of your tenants," said the officer; "and as for the laws, they are those of His Majesty's excise."
"Ah," said Adam, dryly, "pardon me. Your uniform misled me. From your dress I took you for a naval officer."