CHAPTER XXI

THE LAST JACOBITE RISING

On the evening of the Queen’s birthday, bridies were eaten to her honor in a hundred Thrums homes, and her health was drunk in toddy, Scotch toddy and Highland toddy.  Patullo, the writer, gave a men’s party, and his sole instructions to his maid were “Keep running back and forrit wi’ the hot water.”  At the bank there was a ladies’ party and ginger wine.  From Cathro’s bedroom-window a flag was displayed with Vivat Regina on it, the sentiment composed by Cathro, the words sewn by the girls of his McCulloch class.  The eight-o’clock bell rang for an hour, and a loyal crowd had gathered in the square to shout.  To a superficial observer, such as the Baron Bailie or Todd, the new policeman, all seemed well and fair.

But a very different scene was being enacted at the same time in the fastnesses of the Den, where three resolute schemers had met by appointment.  Their trysting-place was the Cuttle Well, which is most easily reached by the pink path made for that purpose; but the better to further their dark and sinister design, the plotters arrived by three circuitous routes, one descending the Reekie Broth Pot, a low but dangerous waterfall, the second daring the perils of the crags, and the third walking stealthily up the burn.

“Is that you, Tommy?”

“Whist!  Do you mind the password?”

“Stroke!”

“Right.  Have you heard Gav Dishart coming?”

“I hinna.  I doubt his father had grippit him as he was slinking out o’ the manse.”

“I fear it, Corp.  I’m thinking his father is in the Woman’s pay.”

“What woman?”

“The Woman of Hanover?”

“That’s the queen, is it no?”

“She’ll never get me to call her queen.”

“Nor yet me.  I think I hear Gav coming.”

Gav Dishart was the one who had come by the burn, and his boots were cheeping like a field of mice.  He gave the word “Stroke,” and the three then looked at each other firmly.  The lights of the town were not visible from the Cuttle Well, owing to an arm of cliff that is outstretched between, but the bell could be distinctly heard, and occasionally a shout of revelry.

“They little ken!” said Tommy, darkly.

“They hinna a notion,” said Corp, but he was looking somewhat perplexed himself.

“It’s near time I was back for family exercise,” said Gav, uneasily, “so we had better do it quick, Tommy.”

“Did you bring the wineglasses?” Tommy asked him.

“No,” Gav said, “the press was lockit, but I’ve brought egg-cups.”

“Stand round then.”

The three boys now presented a picturesque appearance, but there was none save the man in the moon to see them.  They stood round the Cuttle Well, each holding an egg-cup, and though the daring nature of their undertaking and the romantic surroundings combined to excite them, it was not fear but soaring purpose that paled their faces and caused their hands to tremble, when Tommy said solemnly, “Afore we do what we’ve come here to do, let’s swear.”