“And is their maister up at Wolf’s Crag?” said Girder.

“Ay, troth is he,” replied his man of confidence.

“And friends wi’ Ravenswood?”

“It’s like sae,” answered the foreman, “since he is putting up wi’ him.”

“And Peter Puncheon’s dead?”

“Ay, ay, Puncheon has leaked out at last, the auld carle,” said the foreman; “mony a dribble o’ brandy has gaen through him in his day.  But as for the broche and the wild-fowl, the saddle’s no aff your mare yet, maister, and I could follow and bring it back, for Mr. Balderstone’s no far aff the town yet.”

“Do sae, Will; and come here, I’ll tell ye what to do when ye owertake him.”

He relieved the females of his presence, and gave Will his private instructions.

“A bonny-like thing,” said the mother-in-law, as the cooper re-entered the apartment, “to send the innocent lad after an armed man, when ye ken Mr. Balderstone aye wears a rapier, and whiles a dirk into the bargain.”

“I trust,” said the minister, “ye have reflected weel on what ye have done, lest you should minister cause of strife, of which it is my duty to say, he who affordeth matter, albeit he himself striketh not, is in no manner guiltless.”

“Never fash your beard, Mr. Bide-the-Bent,” replied Girder; “ane canna get their breath out here between wives and ministers.  I ken best how to turn my ain cake.  Jean, serve up the dinner, and nae mair about it.”

Nor did he again allude to the deficiency in the course of the evening.

Meantime, the foreman, mounted on his master’s steed, and charged with his special orders, pricked swiftly forth in pursuit of the marauder Caleb.  That personage, it may be imagined, did not linger by the way.  He intermitted even his dearly-beloved chatter, for the purpose of making more haste, only assuring Mr. Lockhard that he had made the purveyor’s wife give the wild-fowl a few turns before the fire, in case that Mysie, who had been so much alarmed by the thunder, should not have her kitchen-grate in full splendour.  Meanwhile, alleging the necessity of being at Wolf’s Crag as soon as possible, he pushed on so fast that his companions could scarce keep up with him.  He began already to think he was safe from pursuit, having gained the summit of the swelling eminence which divides Wolf’s Crag from the village, when he heard the distant tread of a horse, and a voice which shouted at intervals, “Mr. Caleb—­Mr. Balderstone—­Mr. Caleb Balderstone—­hollo—­bide a wee!”

Caleb, it may be well believed, was in no hurry to acknowledge the summons.  First, he would not heart it, and faced his companions down, that it was the echo of the wind; then he said it was not worth stopping for; and, at length, halting reluctantly, as the figure of the horseman appeared through the shades of the evening, he bent up his whole soul to the task of defending his prey, threw himself into an attitude of dignity, advanced the spit, which is his grasp might with its burden seem both spear and shield, and firmly resolved to die rather than surrender it.