For a moment the mason steadies himself, settles his foot in the crampet, and with a straight delivered shot shaves the guard and wicks out the rival stone, himself lying in close to the tee, and _guarded_ both at the side and in front by stones belonging to his side. The effect of such a shot as this, at so critical a period of the game, was electric, and is not easily to be described. Enthusiasm on the part of Tweedsmuir, dismay on that of Broughton. But there are yet several stones to come: the order may again be reversed, and Andrew’s deftly played shot may be yet taken. We shall see. The blacksmith, the third player on the Broughton side, follows with his second stone, and though by adhering to the direction of his skip he might have knocked off the guard and so laid open Andrew’s winner, over-anxiety causes him to miss the guard and miss everything. Thus is his second and last stone unfortunately played for Broughton. The mason has his second stone still to play for Tweedsmuir, and before doing so Laird Scott thus accosts him: ‘Andrew my man, we are lying shot now; we want but another to be game; and for the honour o’ Tweedsmuir I am going to give you the shot that will give it to us: do ye see this port?’ pointing to an open part of the ice (in curling phraseology a port) to the left of the tee, with a stone on each side. ‘I see the port sir.’ ‘Well then,’ continued the laird, ‘I want you to fill that port; lay a stone there Andrew, and there’s _a lade o’ meal at your door to-morrow morning_.’ The stone is raised just for one instant with an easy backward sweep of hand and arm, and delivered with a twist that curls it on and on by degrees towards the spot required. Not just with sufficient strength perhaps, but aligned to the point. In an instant the skip is master of the situation. ‘Soop lads! O soop! soop her up—s-o-o-o-p—there now; let her lie!’ as the stone curls into the ‘port,’ and lies a provoking impediment to the opposite players. The pressure on players of both sides is now too great to admit of many outward demonstrations. Stern rigour of muscle stiffens every face as the two skips themselves now leave the tee and take their places at the other end. The silence bodes a something that no one cares to explain away, so great is the strain of half-hope half-fear that animates every breast.