the top to balance himself for his leap to
the other side. As he did so Ebie Kirgan saw that the dyke was swaying
to the fall, having been weakened by the rush of water on the farther
side. He ran instantly at the minister, and gave him a push with both
hands which caused Mr. Maclellan to alight on his feet clear of the
falling stones. The dyke did not so much fall outward as settle down
on its own ruins. Ebie fell on his face among the stones with the
impetus of his own eagerness. He arose, however, quickly--only limping
slightly from what he called a 'bit chack' on the leg between two
stones.

'That was a merciful providence, Ebenezer,' said the minister,
solemnly; 'I hope you are duly thankful!'

'Dod, I am that!' replied Ebie, scratching his head vigorously with his
right hand and rubbing his leg with his left. 'Gin I hadna gi'en ye
that dunch, ye micht hae preachen nane at Cauldshaws this nicht.'

They now crossed a fairly level clover field, dark and laid with wet.
The scent of the clover rose to their nostrils with almost overpowering
force. There was not a breath of air. The sky was blue and the sun
shining. Only a sullen roar came over the hill, sounding in the
silence like the rush of a train over a far-away viaduct.

'What is that?' queried the minister, stopping to listen.

Ebie took a brisk sidelong look at him.

'I'm some dootsome that'll be the Skyreburn coming doon aff o'
Cairnsmuir!'

The minister tramped unconcernedly on. Ebie Kirgan stared at him.

'He canna ken what a "Skyreburn warnin'" is--he'll be thinkin' it's
some bit Machars burn that the laddies set their whurlie mills in. But
he'll turn richt eneuch when he sees Skyreburn roarin' reed in a Lammas
flood, I'm thinkin'!'

They took their way over the shoulder of the hill in the beautiful
evening, leaning eagerly forward to get the first glimpse of the cause
of that deep and resonant roar. In a moment they saw below them a
narrow rock-walled gully, ten or fifteen yards across, filled to the
brim with rushing water. It was not black peat water like the Camelon
Lane, but it ran red as keel, flecked now and then with a revolving
white blur as one of the Cauldshaws sheep spun downward to the sea,
with four black feet turned pitifully up to the blue sky.

Ebie looked at the minister. 'He'll turn noo if he's mortal,' he said.
But the minister held on. He looked at the water up and down the
roaring stream. On a hill above, t