an open hand on a sleek neck, a quick start, and the rattle of chains as
the horse quivered to the blow.

"Run a white tarpaulin across the cheese, Jock, to keep them frae
melting in the heat," came another voice. "And canny on the top there
wi' thae big feet o' yours; d'ye think a cheese was made for _you_ to
dance on wi' your mighty brogues?" Then the voice sank to the hoarse,
warning whisper of impatience--loudish in anxiety, yet throaty from fear
of being heard. "Hurry up, man--hurry up, or he'll be down on us like
bleezes for being so late in getting off!"

Gourlay smiled grimly, and a black gleam shot from his eye as he glanced
round to the gate and caught the words. His men did not know he could
hear them.

The clock across the Square struck the hour, eight soft, slow strokes,
that melted away in the beauty of the morning. Five minutes passed.
Gourlay turned his head to listen, but no further sound came from the
yard. He walked to the green gate, his slippers making no noise.

"Are ye sleeping, my pretty men?" he said softly.... "_Eih?_"

The "_Eih_" leapt like a sword, with a slicing sharpness in its tone
that made it a sinister contrast to the first sweet question to his
"pretty men." "_Eih?_" he said again, and stared with open mouth and
fierce, dark eyes.

"Hurry up, Peter," whispered the gaffer, "hurry up, for God sake. He has
the black glower in his een."

"Ready, sir; ready now!" cried Peter Riney, running out to open the
other half of the gate. Peter was a wizened little man, with a sandy
fringe of beard beneath his chin, a wart on the end of his long,
slanting-out nose, light blue eyes, and bushy eyebrows of a reddish
gray. The bearded red brows, close above the pale blueness of his eyes,
made them more vivid by contrast; they were like pools of blue light
amid the brownness of his face. Peter always ran about his work with
eager alacrity. A simple and willing old man, he affected the quick
readiness of youth to atone for his insignificance.

"Hup, horse; hup then!" cried courageous Peter, walking backwards with
curved body through the gate, and tugging at the reins of a horse the
feet of which struck sparks from the paved ground as they stressed
painfully on edge to get weigh on the great wagon behind. The cart
rolled through, then another, and another, till twelve of them had
passed. Gourlay stood aside to watch them. All the horses were brown;
"he makes a point of that," the neighbours woul