, and
was given a strip of roast which he found he could swallow.

"How mony beasts were killed?" he asked incuriously, and was told
three. Saugh poles had been set up to hang the skins on. A notion
made Sim stagger to his feet and go to inspect them. There could be no
mistake. There hung the brindled hide of Marion's cow.

Wat returned in a cloud of glory, driving three-and-twenty English
beasts before him--great white fellows that none could match on the
Scottish side. He and his lads clamoured for food, so more flesh was
roasted, till the burnside smelt like a kitchen. The Scots had found
better than cattle, for five big skins of ale bobbed on their saddles.
Wat summoned all to come and drink, and Harden, having no fear of
reprisals, did not forbid it.

Sim was becoming a man again. He had bathed his bruises and scratches
in the burn, and Will o' Phawhope, who had skill as a leech, had set
his arm and bound it to his side in splints of ash and raw hide. He
had eaten grossly of flesh--the first time since the spring, and then
it had only been braxy lamb. The ale had warmed his blood and
quickened his wits. He began to feel pleased with himself. He had
done well in the fray--had not young Harden praised him?--and surly Wat
had owned that the salvage of so many beasts was Sim's doing. "Man,
Sim, ye wrocht michtily at the burnside," he had said. "The heids
crackit like nits when ye garred your staff sing. Better you wi' a
stick than anither than wi' a sword." It was fine praise, and warmed
Sim's chilly soul. For a year he had fought bitterly for bread, and
now glory had come to him without asking.

Men were drawn by lot to drive the cattle, and others to form a
rearguard. The rest set off for their homes by the nearest road. The
shelty had been recovered, and Sim to his pride found himself riding in
the front with Wat and young Harden and others of the Scott and Elliot
gentry.

The company rode fast over the green hills in the clear autumn noon.
Harden's blue eyes danced, and he sang snatches in his gay voice. Wat
rumbled his own praises and told of the raid over Liddel. Sim felt a
new being from the broken man who the night before had wearily jogged
on the same road. He told himself he took life too gravely and let
care ride him too hard. He was too much thirled to the Cleuch and tied
to his wife's apron. In the future he would see his friends, and bend
the bicker with the rest of them.

By