"Ay, will I," Jean answered, then burst into tears. "Mr. Dishart," she cried, "if they take my father they'd best take my mither too." The two women went back to the manse, where Jean relit the fire, having nothing else to do, and boiled the kettle, while Margaret wandered in anguish from room to room. [Illustration: THE WARNING.] Men nearly naked ran past Gavin, seeking to escape from Thrums by the fields he had descended. When he shouted to them they only ran faster. A Tillyloss weaver whom he tried to stop struck him savagely and sped past to the square. In Bank Street, which was full of people at one moment and empty the next, the minister stumbled over old Charles Yuill. "Take me and welcome," Yuill cried, mistaking Gavin for the enemy. He had only one arm through the sleeve of his jacket, and his feet were bare. "I am Mr. Dishart. Are the soldiers already in the square, Yuill?" "They'll be there in a minute." The man was so weak that Gavin had to hold him. "Be a man, Charles. You have nothing to fear. It is not such as you the soldiers have come for. If need be, I can swear that you had not the strength, even if you had the will, to join in the weavers' riot." "For Godsake, Mr. Dishart," Yuill cried, his hands chattering on Gavin's coat, "dinna swear that. My laddie was in the thick o' the riot; and if he's ta'en there's the poor's-house gaping for Kitty and me, for I couldna weave half a web a week. If there's a warrant agin onybody o' the name of Yuill, swear it's me; swear I'm a desperate character, swear I'm michty strong for all I look palsied; and if when they take me, my courage breaks down, swear the mair, swear I confessed my guilt to you on the Book." As Yuill spoke the quick rub-a-dub of a drum was heard. "The soldiers!" Gavin let go his hold of the old man, who hastened away to give himself up. "That's no the sojers," said a woman; "it's the folk gathering in the square. This'll be a watery Sabbath in Thrums." "Rob Dow," shouted Gavin, as Dow flung past with a scythe in his hand, "lay down that scythe." "To hell wi' religion!" Rob retorted, fiercely; "it spoils a' thing." "Lay down that scythe; I command you." Rob stopped undecidedly, then cast the scythe from him, but its rattle on the stones was more than he could bear. "I winna," he cried, and, picking it up, ran to the square. An upper window in Bank Street opened, and Dr. McQueen put out his head. He was smoking as usual. "Mr. Dishart," he said, "you will return home at once if you are a wise man; or, better still, come in here. You can do nothing with these people to-night." "I can stop their fighting." "You will only make black blood between them and you." "Dinna heed him, Mr. Dishart," cried some women. "You had better heed him," cried a man. "I will not desert my people," Gavin said.