l's direction, he had made for himself--drawing from them
experimental sounds, and feeling after the possibility of a melody.
He was so much occupied that he did not see Angus approach, who now
stood for a moment or two regarding him. He was hirsute as Esau,
his head crowned with its own plentiful crop--even in winter he wore
no cap--his body covered with the wool of the sheep, and his legs
and feet with the hide of the deer--the hair, as in nature, outward.
The deer-skin Angus knew for what it was from afar, and concluding
it the spoil of the only crime of which he recognized the enormity,
whereas it was in truth part of a skin he had himself sold to a
saddler in the next village, to make sporrans of, boiled over with
wrath, and strode nearer, grinding his teeth. Gibbie looked up,
knew him, and starting to his feet, turned to the hill. Angus,
levelling his gun, shouted to him to stop, but Gibbie only ran the
harder, nor once looked round. Idiotic with rage, Angus fired. One
of his barrels was loaded with shot, the other with ball: meaning to
use the shot barrel, he pulled the wrong trigger, and liberated the
bullet. It went through the calf of Gibbie's right leg, and he
fell. It had, however, passed between two muscles without injuring
either greatly, and had severed no artery. The next moment he was
on his feet again and running, nor did he yet feel pain. Happily he
was not very far from home, and he made for it as fast as he
could--preceded by Oscar, who, having once by accident been shot
himself, had a mortal terror of guns. Maimed as Gibbie was, he
could yet run a good deal faster up hill than the rascal who
followed him. But long before he reached the cottage, the pain had
arrived, and the nearer he got to it the worse it grew. In spite of
the anguish, however, he held on with determination; to be seized by
Angus and dragged down to Glashruach, would be far worse.

Robert Grant was at home that day, suffering from rheumatism. He
was seated in the ingle-neuk, with his pipe in his mouth, and Janet
was just taking the potatoes for their dinner off the fire, when the
door flew open, and in stumbled Gibbie, and fell on the floor. The
old man threw his pipe from him, and rose trembling, but Janet was
before him. She dropt down on her knees beside the boy, and put her
arm under his head. He was white and motionless.

"Eh, Robert Grant!" she cried, "he's bleedin'."

The same moment they heard quick ye