evening to sing him the country
melodies.

At the end of a fortnight the men were all fit for duty again, but the
hospitable farmer would not hear of their leaving, and as news from
time to time reached them from the outer world, and Malcolm learned that
there was no chance of any engagement for a time between the hostile
armies, he was only too glad to remain.

Another fortnight passed, and Malcolm reluctantly gave the word that on
the morrow the march must be recommenced. A general feeling of sorrow
reigned in the village when it was known that their guests were about to
depart, for the Scottish soldiers had made themselves extremely popular.
They were ever ready to assist in the labours of the village. They
helped to pick the apples from the heavily laden trees, they assisted to
thrash out the corn, and in every way strove to repay their entertainers
for the kindness they had shown them.

Of an evening their camp had been the rendezvous of the whole village.
There alternately the soldiers and the peasants sang their national
songs, and joined in hearty choruses. Sometimes there were dances, for
many of the villagers played on various instruments; and altogether
Glogau had never known such a time of festivity and cheerfulness before.

Late in the evening of the day before they had fixed for their departure
the pastor rode into the village.

"I have bad news," he said. "A party of Pappenheim's dragoons, three
hundred strong, are raiding in the district on the other side of the
hills. A man came in just as I mounted my horse, saying that it was
expected they would attack Mansfeld, whose count is a sturdy Protestant.
The people were determined to resist to the last, in spite of the fate
of Magdeburg and Frankenhausen, but I fear that their chance of success
is a small one; but they say they may as well die fighting as be
slaughtered in cold blood."

"Is Mansfeld fortified?" Malcolm asked.

"It has a wall," the pastor replied, "but of no great strength. The
count's castle, which stands on a rock adjoining it, might defend itself
for some time, but I question whether it can withstand Pappenheim's
veterans.

"Mansfeld itself is little more than a village. I should not say it
had more than a thousand inhabitants, and can muster at best about two
hundred and fifty men capable of bearing arms."

"How far is it from here?" Malcolm asked after a pause.

"Twenty-four miles by the bridle path across the hills."

"Wh