Tom Kinlay bit the stem of his clay pipe so hard that it broke in his mouth, so great was his rage.  Then, as though words of denial were of no use, he took to the more cowardly argument of violence, and, hissing the words, “Ye auld liar, take that,” raised his hand, and struck a blow at Colin Lothian’s face.

But Jack Paterson knocked up the lad’s arm, and caught Tom round the waist, dragging him forcibly away.

“What! ye young scamp, would ye strike an auld man?” he said.

And he raised Tom Kinlay in his strong arms high in air, and almost threw him out at the open door.

“That was smartly done, my man,” said Lieutenant Fox.  “I wish we had a few such fellows as you aboard the Clasper.”

And thus revealing himself, the officer finished his drink and leisurely left us.

“Who’s that chap just gone out?” asked Paterson.

“It’s Lieutenant Fox of the Clasper,” I said.

“If that be so, then,” said Colin, “it seems to me he has gone away wiser than he came.”

“Ay,” said Paterson; “it’s no use wonderin’ how the revenue lads get to ken about the smugglers, if that be the way they set about it.”

Shortly afterwards we went aboard the Falcon, and the rest of the day was spent in cleaning up after the voyage, and in balancing our accounts.  In this latter occupation I think my assistance was not without value to Davie Flett, whose system of bookkeeping was original and peculiar, involving a large use of hieroglyphics, which were not always clear even to the skipper himself.

That evening when I tramped over the moor to Lyndardy the snow fell heavily—­a driving, drifting snow that penetrated into every cranny it had access to, and collected in deep wreaths on meadow and moor.  The cold wind blew hard from the north, carrying the fine snow past me in great clouds that curled and swept along the hard ground, forming in some places high barriers that were almost impassable, in other places leaving the ground perfectly bare.

Chapter XXXV.  A Search And A Discovery.

All through that night the snow fell unceasingly, and the drifts grew deeper and deeper in the hollows.

At bedtime, after our chapter from the Bible had been read, my mother barred the door, and said: 

“Let us be thankful, bairns, that we are all at home this night.  I couldna sleep in my bed if I thought there was kith or kin o’ mine outside on such a night o’ blind drift.  It’s just terrible.”

And I think we all slept the more comfortably, feeling that we knew of no one who was suffering in the storm.

Some hours before daylight, while I lay dreaming in my cosy box bed, I was awakened by hearing a rapping noise.  I listened, fancying it was but the noise of some rat behind the wainscot that had come for shelter into the warm house; but the loud knocking came again.  I hurriedly drew on some clothes and opened the outer door.  A wild gust of wind and snow swished in upon me, and in the deep snow outside there stood a woman holding a lighted lantern.