this was Davie Forbes, whom he had come to spy upon and
denounce! But he was no coward, and quickly reassured himself that
duty alone had led him. Still, he was indebted to his enemies!

"I'm greatly obliged to you, indeed," he said with genuine gratitude.
"I probably owe my life to the good luck that led me to your door."

"Na, na, mon," replied Davie. "Ye've naething to thank us for. But
ye'll need a bit supper!" he added, as Bonar rose to his feet and
seemed about to prepare for departure. (He felt rather unsteady on his
legs, but go he must, as he assured himself resolutely.)

"Aye, sure!" cried Maggie Jean, seconding her father's hospitable
invitation. And without another word she produced from various hidden
receptacles tablecloth, knives and forks, bread, oatcake, butter,
cheese, and jam, with the rapidity of a conjurer--as the dazed Bonar
thought. Then down came a frying-pan, and she began to cook eggs and
ham over the bright fire.

It was impossible to resist, and Bonar had no wish to refuse the food
he needed so badly.

"You're very good, I'm sure!" he faltered out. "I really think it was
hunger alone that made me faint. I've never done such a thing in my
life before!"

"Ye'd be nane the worse for a wee drappie sperrits afore y'r supper,"
said Davie. "Peter, lad, fetch oot a drap frae yon jar beyont!"

Peter dutifully obeyed, retiring into some back recess and returning
with a small jug of whiskey, from which his father poured out drams for
the guest and himself.

"Y'r guid health, sir!" he said hospitably, lifting his glass. "May ye
be nane the worse for y'r wettin', the nicht!"

Bonar would have been less than human to have refused. He quietly
sipped his whiskey, which was excellent. The spirit gave him renewed
strength; the savor of Maggie Jean's cooking whetted his appetite. He
owed it to himself to take ordinary care of his health, he reasoned
interiorly. He would tell them who he was, though, before he left.

He had indeed been saved from serious disaster, if not from death, by
means of this family. Peter's lantern--which he had not troubled to
extinguish when the moon rendered it no longer necessary--had been
Bonar's first guiding-star. Don's bark had renewed his energy, and the
result was shelter and hospitality. Like a sensible man he accepted
the good fortune which had fallen to him, and ate a hearty meal.

When it came to the question of starting out again, he found it