he not
speedily fallen fast asleep, and slept all night--so well that he
woke at the first noise Gibbie made.

It was broad clear morning, but his heart beat so loud and fast with
apprehension and curiosity mingled, that for a few moments Fergus
dare not stir, but sat listening breathless to the movement beside
him, none the less appalling that it was so quiet. Recovering
himself a little he cautiously moved the door of the press, and
peeped out.

He saw nothing so frightful as he had, in spite of himself,
anticipated, but was not therefore, perhaps, the less astonished.
The dread brownie of his idea shrunk to a tiny ragged urchin, with
a wonderful head of hair, azure eyes, and deft hands, noiselessly
bustling about on bare feet. He watched him at his leisure, watched
him keenly, assured that any moment he could spring upon him.

As he watched, his wonder sank, and he grew disappointed at the
collapsing of the lubber-fiend into a poor half-naked child upon
whom both his courage and his fear had been wasted. As he continued
to watch, an evil cloud of anger at the presumption of the unknown
minimus began to gather in his mental atmosphere, and was probably
the cause of some movement by which his chair gave a loud creak.
Without even looking round, Gibbie darted into the dairy, and shut
the door. Instantly Fergus was after him, but only in time to see
the vanishing of his last heel through the hole in the wall, and
that way Fergus was much too large to follow him. He rushed from
the house, and across the corner of the yard to the barn-door.
Gibbie, who did not believe he had been seen, stood laughing on the
floor, when suddenly he heard the key entering the lock. He bolted
through the cat-hole--but again just one moment too late, leaving
behind him on Fergus's retina the light from the soles of two bare
feet. The key of the door to the rick-yard was inside, and Fergus
was after him in a moment, but the ricks came close to the
barn-door, and the next he saw of him was the fluttering of his rags
in the wind, and the flashing of his white skin in the sun, as he
fled across the clover field; and before Fergus was over the wall,
Gibbie was a good way ahead towards the Lorrie. Gibbie was a better
runner for his size than Fergus, and in better training too; but,
alas! Fergus's legs were nearly twice as long as Gibbie's. The
little one reached the Lorrie, first, and dashing across it, ran up
the side of the Glashbur