“I mean,” explained Corp hurriedly, “I mean that I kent you would find a wy.  Didest thou kill the Jacobite rebel?”

“He lies but a few paces off,” replied Tommy, “and already the vultures are picking his bones.”

“So perish all Victoria’s enemies,” said Ben the Boatswain, loyally, but a sudden fear made him add, with a complete change of voice, “You dinna chance to ken his name?”

“Ay, I had marked him before,” answered Tommy, “he was called Corp of Corp.”

Ben the Boatswain rose, sat down, rose again, “Tommy,” he said, wiping his brow with his sleeve, “come awa’ hame!”

CHAPTER XXVII

THE LONGER CATECHISM

In the meantime Mr. McLean was walking slowly to the Quharity Arms, fanning his face with his hat, and in the West town end he came upon some boys who had gathered with offensive cries round a girl in a lustre jacket.  A wave of his stick put them to flight, but the girl only thanked him with a look, and entered a little house the window of which showed a brighter light than its neighbors.  Dr. McQueen came out of this house a moment afterwards, and as the two men now knew each other slightly, they walked home together, McLean relating humorously how he had spent the evening.  “And though Commander Sandys means to incarcerate me in the Tower of London,” he said, “he did me a good service the other day, and I feel an interest in him.”

“What did the inventive sacket do?” the doctor asked inquisitively; but McLean, who had referred to the incident of the pass-book, affected not to hear.  “Miss Ailie has told me his history,” he said, “and that he goes to the University next year.”

“Or to the herding,” put in McQueen, dryly.

“Yes, I heard that was the alternative, but he should easily carry a bursary; he is a remarkable boy.”

“Ay, but I’m no sure that it’s the remarkable boys who carry the bursaries.  However, if you have taken a fancy to him you should hear what Mr. Cathro has to say on the subject; for my own part I have been more taken up with one of his band lately than with himself—­a lassie, too.”

“She who went into that house just before you came out?”

“The same, and she is the most puzzling bit of womankind I ever fell in with.”

“She looked an ordinary girl enough,” said Mr. McLean.

The doctor chuckled.  “Man,” he said, “in my time I have met all kinds of women except ordinary ones.  What would you think if I told you that this ordinary girl had been spending three or four hours daily in that house entirely because there was a man dying in it?”

“Some one she had an affection for?”

“My certie, no!  I’m afraid it is long since anybody had an affection for shilpit, hirpling, old Ballingall, and as for this lassie Grizel, she had never spoken to him until I sent her on an errand to his house a week ago.  He was a single man (like you and me), without womenfolk, a school-master of his own making, and in the smallest way, and his one attraction to her was that he was on his death-bed.  Most lassies of her age skirl to get away from the presence of death, but she prigged, sir, fairly prigged, to get into it!”