“And besides,” said another old man, “I dinna believe there’s ane now living that kens the lawful mode of following a fray across the Border. Tam o’ Whittram kend a’ about it; but he died in the hard winter.”
“Ay,” said a third, “he was at the great gathering, when they chased as far as Thirlwall; it was the year after the fight of Philiphaugh.”
“Hout,” exclaimed another of these discording counsellors, “there’s nae great skill needed; just put a lighted peat on the end of a spear, or hayfork, or siclike, and blaw a horn, and cry the gathering-word, and then it’s lawful to follow gear into England, and recover it by the strong hand, or to take gear frae some other Englishman, providing ye lift nae mair than’s been lifted frae you. That’s the auld Border law, made at Dundrennan, in the days of the Black Douglas, Deil ane need doubt it. It’s as clear as the sun.”
“Come away, then, lads,” cried Simon, “get to your geldings, and we’ll take auld Cuddie the muckle tasker wi’ us; he kens the value o’ the stock and plenishing that’s been lost. Hobbie’s stalls and stakes shall be fou again or night; and if we canna big up the auld house sae soon, we’se lay an English ane as low as Heugh-foot is—and that’s fair play, a’ the warld ower.”
This animating proposal was received with great applause by the younger part of the assemblage, when a whisper ran among them, “There’s Hobbie himsell, puir fallow! we’ll be guided by him.”
The principal sufferer, having now reached the bottom of the hill, pushed on through the crowd, unable, from the tumultuous state of his feelings, to do more than receive and return the grasps of the friendly hands by which his neighbours and kinsmen mutely expressed their sympathy in his misfortune. While he pressed Simon of Hackburn’s hand, his anxiety at length found words. “Thank ye, Simon—thank ye, neighbours—I ken what ye wad a’ say. But where are they?—Where are—” He stopped, as if afraid even to name the objects of his enquiry; and with a similar feeling, his kinsmen, without reply, pointed to the hut, into which Hobbie precipitated himself with the desperate air of one who is resolved to know the worst at once. A general and powerful expression of sympathy accompanied him. “Ah, puir fallow—puir Hobbie!”
“He’ll learn the warst o’t now!”
“But I trust Earnscliff will get some speerings o’ the puir lassie.”
Such were the exclamations of the group, who, having no acknowledged leader to direct their motions, passively awaited the return of the sufferer, and determined to be guided by his directions.
The meeting between Hobbie and his family was in the highest degree affecting. His sisters threw themselves upon him, and almost stifled him with their caresses, as if to prevent his looking round to distinguish the absence of one yet more beloved.