We will take the good old way,
We will take the good old way,
The way that lies before us;
Climbing stiff the heathery ben,
Winding swiftly down the glen,
Should we meet with strangers then,
Their gear will serve to store us!"
And now they came upon Iain the policeman—bland, benign, complacent as usual. Iain had remained some little way apart, to let the rioters go by; his share in the day's proceedings had been limited to a discreet and not unamiable observation.
"What are you doing here?" said Mary. "Why did you not interfere before they had set the huts on fire? Don't you see the mischief that has been done?"
There was a whimsical, demure smile in Iain's eyes.