Even as I looked I saw a strange thing on the river bank which chained my languid curiosity. For down the haugh, swinging along at a great pace, came a man, the like of whom I had seldom seen. He ran at a steady trot more like a horse than a human creature, with his arms set close by his sides and without bonnet or shoes. His head swung from side to side as with excessive weariness, and even at that distance I could see how he panted. In a trice he was over Peebles Water and had ascended the bank to the bowling-green, cleared the low dyke, and stood gaping before us. Now I saw him plainer, and I have rarely seen a stranger sight. He seemed to have come a great distance, but no sweat stood on his brow; only a dun copper colour marking the effect of the hot sun. His breeches were utterly ragged and in places showed his long supple limbs. A shock of black hair covered his head and shaded his swarthy face. His eyes were wild and keen as a hawk’s, and his tongue hung out of his mouth like a dog’s in a chase. Every man stopped his play and looked at the queer newcomer. A whisper went round the place that it was that "fule callant frae Brochtoun," but this brought no news to me. The man stood still for maybe three minutes with his eyes fixed on the ground as if to recover breath. Then he got up with dazed glances, like one wakening from sleep. He stared at me, then at the players, and burst into his tale, speaking in a high, excited voice. "I hae run frae Drummeller to bring ye word. Quick and get the folk out o’ the waterside hooses or the feck o’ the toun ’ll be soomin’ to Berwick in an ’oor." No one spoke, but all stared as if they took him for a madman. "There’s been an awfu’ storm up i’ the muirs," he went on, panting, "and Tweed’s com in’ doun like a mill-race. The herd o’ Powmood tellt me, and I got twae ’oors start o’t and cam off here what I could rin. Get the folk out o’ the waterside hooses when I bid ye, wi’ a’ their gear and plenishing, or there’ll no be sae muckle as a groat’s worth left by nicht. Up wi’ ye and haste, for there’s nae time to lose. I heard the roar o’ the water miles off, louder than ony thunderstorm and mair terrible than an army wi’ banners. Quick, ye auld doited bodies, if ye dinna want to hae mourning and lamentation i’ the toun o’ Peebles." At this, as you may believe, a great change passed over all. Some made no words about it, but rushed into the town to give the alarm; others stared stupidly as if waiting for more news; while some were disposed to treat the whole matter as a hoax. This enraged the newsbearer beyond telling. Springing up, he pointed to the western sky, and far off we saw a thick blackness creeping up the skyline. "If ye’ll no believe me," said he, "will ye believe the finger of God?" The word and the sight convinced the most distrusting.