“Gang an’ fess yer gun,” said Malcolm, “an’ gien ye fin’ me waitin’ for ye, ye can lat at me.” The factor uttered a horrible imprecation on himself if he did not make him pay dearly for his behaviour. “Hoots, sir! Be asham’t o’ yersel’. Gang hame to the mistress, an’ I s’ be up the morn’s mornin’ for my wauges.” “If ye set foot on the grounds again, I’ll set every dog in the place upon you.” Malcolm laughed. “Gien I was to turn the order the ither gait, wad they min’ you or me, div ye think, Maister Crathie?” “Give me that key, and go about your business.” “Na, na, sir! What my lord gae me I s’ keep--for a’ the factors atween this an’ the Land’s En’,” returned Malcolm. “An’ for lea’in’ the place, gien I be na in your service, Maister Crathie, I’m nae un’er your orders. I’ll gang whan it suits me. An’ mair yet, ye s’ gang oot o’ this first, or I s’ gar ye, an that ye’ll see.” It was a violent proceeding, but for a matter of manners he was not going to risk what of her good name poor Lizzy had left: like the books of the Sibyl, that grew in value. He made, however, but one threatful stride towards the factor, for the great man turned and fled. The moment he was out of sight, Malcolm unlocked the door, led Lizzy out, and brought her through the tunnel to the sands. There he left her, and set out for Scaurnose. CHAPTER VII. BLUE PETER. The door of Blue Peter’s cottage was opened by his sister. Not much at home in the summer, when she carried fish to the country, she was very little absent in the winter, and as there was but one room for all uses, except the closet bedroom and the garret at the top of the ladder, Malcolm, instead of going in, called to his friend, whom he saw by the fire with his little Phemy upon his knee, to come out and speak to him. Blue Peter at once obeyed the summons. “There’s naething wrang, I houp, Ma’colm?” he said, as he closed the door behind him. “Maister Graham wad say,” returned Malcolm, “naething ever was wrang but what ye did wrang yersel’, or wadna pit richt whan ye had a chance. I ha’e him nae mair to gang till, Joseph, an’ sae I’m come to you. Come doon by, an’ i’ the scoug o’ a rock, I’ll tell ye a’ aboot it.” “Ye wadna ha’e the mistress no ken o’ ’t?” said his friend. “I dinna jist like haein’ secrets frae _her_.” “Ye sall jeedge for yersel’, man, an’ tell her or no jist as ye like. Only she maun haud her tongue, or the black dog’ll ha’e a’ the butter.” “She can haud her tongue like the tae-stane o’ a grave,” said Peter.