Hunted and Harried | Page 7

and take a steady look at the man who had captured him in this singular manner.
"Weel, what d'ye think o' me?" asked Andrew, with what may be termed a grave smile.
"If you want to know my true opinion," returned Wallace, "I should say that I would not have thought, from the look of you, that you could have taken mean advantage of a sleeping foe."
"Ay--an' I would not have thought, from the look o' you," retorted Andrew, "that ye could hae sell't yersel' to gang skulkin' aboot the hills as a spy upon the puir craters that are only seekin' to worship their Maker in peace."
Without further remark Andrew Black, leaving his coat and plaid to keep company with the sword and stick, led his prisoner down the hill.
Andrew's cottage occupied a slight hollow on the hillside, which concealed it from every point of the compass save the high ground above it. Leading the trooper up to the door, he tapped gently, and was promptly admitted by some one whom Wallace could not discern, as the interior was dark.
"Oh, Uncle Andrew! I'm glad ye've come, for Peter hasna come back yet, an' I'm feared somethin' has come ower him."
"Strike a light, lassie. I've gotten haud o' a spy here, an' canna weel do't mysel'."
When a light was procured and held up, it revealed the pretty face of Jean Black, which underwent a wondrous change when she beheld the face of the prisoner.
"Uncle Andrew!" she exclaimed, "this is nae spy. He's the man that cam' to the help o' Aggie an' me against the dragoon."
"Is that sae?" said Black, turning a look of surprise on his prisoner.
"It is true, indeed, that I had the good fortune to protect Jean and her friend from an insolent comrade," answered Wallace; "and it is also true that that act has been partly the cause of my deserting to the hills, being starved for a day and a night, and taken prisoner now as a spy."
"Sir," said Andrew, hastily untying the kerchief that bound them together, "I humbly ask your pardon. Moreover, it's my opeenion that if ye hadna been starvin' ye wadna have been here 'e noo, for ye're uncommon teuch. Rin, lassie, an' fetch some breed an' cheese. Whar's Marion an' Is'b'l?"
"They went out to seek for Peter," said Jean, as she hastened to obey her uncle's mandate.
At that moment a loud knocking was heard at the door, and the voice of Marion, one of the maid-servants, was heard outside. On the door being opened, she and her companion Isabel burst in with excited looks and the information, pantingly given, that the "sodgers were comin'."
"Haud yer noise, lassie, an' licht the fire--pit on the parritch pat. Come, Peter, let's hear a' aboot it."
Ramblin' Peter, who had been thus named because of his inveterate tendency to range over the neighbouring hills, was a quiet, undersized, said-to-be weak-minded boy of sixteen years, though he looked little more than fourteen. No excitement whatever ruffled his placid countenance as he gave his report--to the effect that a party of dragoons had been seen by him not half an hour before, searching evidently for his master's cottage.
"They'll soon find it," said the farmer, turning quickly to his domestics--"Away wi' ye, lassies, and hide."
The two servant-girls, with Jean and her cousin Aggie Wilson, ran at once into an inner room and shut the door. Ramblin' Peter sat stolidly down beside the fire and calmly stirred the porridge-pot, which was nearly full of the substantial Scottish fare.
"Noo, sir," said Black, turning to Will Wallace, who had stood quietly watching the various actors in the scene just described, "yer comrades'll be here in a wee while. May I ask what ye expect?"
"I expect to be imprisoned at the least, more probably shot."
"Hm! pleasant expectations for a young man, nae doot. I'm sorry that it's oot o' my power to stop an' see the fun, for the sodgers have strange suspicions aboot me, so I'm forced to mak' mysel' scarce an' leave Ramblin' Peter to do the hospitalities o' the hoose. But before I gang awa' I wad fain repay ye for the guid turn ye did to my bairns. If ye are willin' to shut yer eyes an' do what I tell ye, I'll put you in a place o' safety."
"Thank you, Mr. Black," returned Wallace; "of course I shall only be too glad to escape from the consequences of my unfortunate position; but do not misunderstand me: although neither a spy nor a Covenantor I am a loyal subject, and would not now be a deserter if that character had not been forced upon me, first by the brutality of the soldiers with whom I was banded, and then by the insolence of my comrade-in-arms to your daughter--"
"Niece; niece," interrupted