serably down
the rock, scratching his bare legs as he went. His feet touched the
sand--went through it like water--and he was down below his knees
before he realised that he was in a quicksand. Wildly he grasped at
the rock to keep himself from sinking further, and fortunately there
was a jutting spur or edge which he was able to grasp instinctively.
To this he clung in grim desperation. He tried to shout, but his
breath would not come, till after a great effort his voice rang out.
Again he shouted, and it seemed as if the sound of his own voice gave
him new courage, for he was able to hold on to the rock for a longer
time than he thought possible--though he held on only in blind
desperation. He was, however, beginning to find his grasp weakening,
when, joy of joys! his shout was answered by a rough voice from just
above him.

'God be thankit, I'm nae too late!' and a fisherman with great
thigh-boots came hurriedly climbing over the rock. In an instant he
recognised the gravity of the danger, and with a cheering 'Haud fast,
mon! I'm comin'!' scrambled down till he found a firm foothold. Then
with one strong hand holding the rock above, he leaned down, and
catching Markam's wrist, called out to him, 'Haud to me, mon! Haud to
me wi' ither hond!'

Then he lent his great strength, and with a steady, sturdy pull,
dragged him out of the hungry quicksand and placed him safe upon the
rock. Hardly giving him time to draw breath, he pulled and pushed
him--never letting him go for an instant--over the rock into the firm
sand beyond it, and finally deposited him, still shaking from the
magnitude of his danger, high upon the beach. Then he began to speak:

'Mon! but I was just in time. If I had no laucht at yon foolish lads
and begun to rin at the first you'd a bin sinkin' doon to the bowels
o' the airth be the noo! Wully Beagrie thocht you was a ghaist, and
Tom MacPhail swore ye was only like a goblin on a puddick-steel! "Na!"
said I. "Yon's but the daft Englishman--the loony that had escapit
frae the waxwarks." I was thinkin' that bein' strange and silly--if
not a whole-made feel--ye'd no ken the ways o' the quicksan'! I
shouted till warn ye, and then ran to drag ye aff, if need be. But God
be thankit, be ye fule or only half-daft wi' yer vanity, that I was no
that late!' and he reverently lifted his cap as he spoke.

Mr. Markam was deeply touched and thankful for his escape from a
horrible death; but the sting of the charge