As he spoke, the door of the cottage was thrown open and in the light from it I saw one of the troopers. Placing a firm hand over my companion’s mouth I dragged him into the shadow of the hedge, and pushing him before me wormed my way through to its other side. Here we lay, still and silent, while I, with ears alert, heard the troopers vault into their saddles and with a cheery "Good night, Luckie," clatter up the lane to the high road to continue their way to Newton-Stewart. We lay hidden till the noise of their going died in the distance, then we pushed our way back through the hedge and made for the cottage. Jock beat an unsteady tattoo on the door. "Wha’s knockin’ at this time o’ nicht?" asked a woman’s voice from behind the door. "Jock Tamson, Luckie, wi’ a frien’." "Jock Tomson!--he’s awa’ hame to his bed an ’oor sin’." "Na, Luckie, it’s me richt eneuch, and I’ve brocht a frien’, a braw laddie in the King’s uniform, to see ye." The King’s uniform seemed to act as a charm, for the door was at once thrown open and we entered. With a fugitive’s caution I lingered to see that the old woman closed the door and barred it. Then, following the uncertain light of the tallow candle which she carried, we made our way along the sanded floor of the passage and passed through a low door into a wide kitchen. Peat embers still glowed on the hearth, and when Luckie had lit two more candles which stood in bottles on a long deal table I was able to make some note of my surroundings. Our hostess was a woman far gone in years. Her face was expressionless, as though set in a mould, but from beneath the shadow of her heavy eyebrows gleamed a pair of piercing eyes that age had not dimmed. She moved slowly with shuffling gait, half-bowed as though pursuing something elusive which she could not catch. I noticed, too, for danger had quickened my vision, that her right hand and arm were never still. She stooped over the hearth and casting fresh peats upon it said: "And what’s yer pleesure, gentlemen?" "A bottle o’ Blednoch, Luckie, a wheen soda scones and a whang o’ cheese; and dinna forget the butter--we’re fair famished," answered Jock, his words jostling each other. Our hostess brought a small table and set it before us, and we sat down. Very speedily, for one so old, Luckie brought our refreshment, and Thomson, seizing the black bottle, poured himself out a stiff glass, which he drank at a gulp. I helped myself to a moderate dram and set the bottle on the table between us. Thomson seized it at once and replenished his glass, and then said as he passed the bottle to the old woman: "Will ye no tak’ a drap, Luckie, for the guid o’ the hoose?" She shuffled to the dresser and came back with a glass which she filled.