"There's little fear o' that, gien I ken my men," answered Peter, and went off, rather less than half clothed, the sun burning hot upon his back, through the sleeping village to call them, while Malcolm went and waited beside the dinghy.
At length six men in a body, and one lagging behind, appeared coming down the winding path, all but Peter no doubt wondering why they were called so soon from their beds on such a peaceful morning after being out the night before.
Malcolm went to meet them. "Freen's," he said, "I'm in want o' yer help."
"Onything ye like, Ma'colm, sae far 's I'm concernt, 'cep' it be to ride yer mere. That I wull no tak in han'," said Jeames Gentle.
"It's no that," returned Malcolm. "It's naething freely sae hard 's that, I'm thinkin'. The hard 'ill be to believe what I'm gaein' to tell ye."
"Ye'll no be gaein' to set up for a proaphet?" said Girnel, with something approaching a sneer. Girnel was the one who came down behind the rest.
"Na, na—naething like it," said Blue Peter.
"But first ye'll promise to hand yer tongues for half a day?" said Malcolm.
"Ay, ay, we'll no clype." "We s' haud wer tongues!" cried one and another and another, and all seemed to assent.
"Weel," said Malcolm, "my name 's no Ma'colm MacPhail, but—"