“The description was very exact, Robert. I recognised your ghost on the instant.” “Ghost, is it?” quoth Sir Hector scornfully. “Man, a ghost is a pretty poppet in comparison! Yon was a kelpie, I’m tellin’ ye.” “And the soldiers are all fled away, Hector, and ha’ left their prisoners behind ’em!” “And likewise most o’ their equipment, sir,” added the Corporal. “O John, O Johnnie man,” moaned Sir Hector from his lowly seat, “’tis an awfu’ thing we ha’ seen this nicht!” “True, Hector. But Mr. Potter and his fellows are safe, and we have taken no harm——” “Whisht lad! Dinna be too sure; forbye, I’ve an unchancy feelin’ in ma wame, an’ ma bowels be turned tae watter, Johnnie!” “Then I suggest a jorum of Mr. Bunkle’s gumboo.” “Na, na, Johnnie! When a man sees a kelpie ’tis time for him tae think o’ ither things, y’ ken.... Come awa’ hame wi’ me instead, for ’tis a solitary man I’ll be the nicht.” Two o’clock was striking as they re-entered Alfriston to find it still lapped in peaceful slumber. Reaching his habitation, Sir Hector lifted the latch, but, finding the door gently resistant, paused. “That’ll be Wully Tamson,” he explained. “Wully always sleeps across the threshold whin he chances to be byordinar’ fu’. Hey, Wully man, wake up!” And Sir Hector bowed mighty shoulder and hove the door wide enough to gain admittance, whereupon from the pitchy gloom arose reproachful groanings and plaintive mutterings that ended in stentorian snore. “Come in,” quoth Sir Hector from the dark, “an’ mind ye don’t tread on Wully.... So! Now wait ’till I find the candle.” Here the sound of ineffectual gropings and a splintering crash. “A’ richt, Johnnie, ’twas only a platter,” Sir Hector explained, “though what ’twas doin’ on the mantel-shelf I dinna ken.... I pit the candle here somewhere, I’ll swear ... ah!” Ensued the sound of flint and steel and in due season the candle was lighted to discover a small, disordered room; before the ashes of a long-dead fire the single elbow-chair bore a pair of dusty riding-boots and the joints of a fishing-rod, while the table was littered with sundry unwashed crockery, amidst which reposed a weatherbeaten hat. “’Tis no’ juist a palace, John, but what there is of it is hamely.... If ye’ll pit some o’ the crockery on the floor we’ll crack a bottle for auld lang syne—what—ye’ll no’. Aweel, mebbe ’tis a little early for’t, an’ we’ll be better in bed.” “I think so, Hector. And I venture to suggest your cottage might be made even more homely by a woman with a brush, or a mop, or——” “A wumman, Johnnie, a wumman? Hoot—toot, she’d juist tidy a’ the comfort oot o’ the place wi’ her sweepin’ an’ scowerin’—a wumman? My certie! I do verra weel wi’ Wully Tamson. Guid-nicht t’ye, John——” “Begging your pardon, Sir Hector,” quoth the Corporal, standing at attention, “but what might a kelpie be pre-cisely?”