This winter, the wind that drops the ripened fruit not plucked before, blew hard upon old Grannie, who had now passed her hundredth year. For some time Agnes had not been able to do much for her, but another great-grandchild, herself a widow and a mother, was spending the winter with her. On his way to or from school, Cosmo every day looked in to see or enquire after her; and when he heard she had had a bad night he would always think how with her would fail the earthly knowledge of not a little of the past of his family, and upon one of these occasions resolved that he would at least find out whether she remembered the bamboo he had brought from Cairncarque. Calling when school was over, he heard she was a little better, and the next morning brought with him the cane. In the afternoon he learned that she had had a better night, and going in found her in her chair by the fireside, and took his place by her so that the light from the window at her back should fall upon the stick. He had not sat more than a minute, when he saw her eyes fixed upon the horse. “What’s that ye hae there, Cosmo?” she said. “This?” returned Cosmo. “It’s a cane I pickit up upo’ my traivels. What think ye o’ ’t?” He held it out to her, but she did not move her hand towards it. “Whaur got ye ’t?” she asked, her eyes growing larger as she looked. “What gars ye speir, grannie?” he returned, with assumed indifference. “I dinna believe there was anither like the ane that’s like,” she replied. “In which case,” rejoined Cosmo, “it maun be the same. Ken ye onything aboot it?” “Ay; an’ sae du ye, or ye hae less sense nor I wad hae mintit o’ a Warlock. That stick’s no a stick like ither sticks, an’ I wuss I was nearer hame.” “Ye dinna mean, grannie, there’s onything no canny aboot the stick?” said Cosmo. “I wadna like to think him near me ’at aucht it,” she replied. “Wha aucht it, grannie?” “Rive ’t a’ to bits, laddie; there’s something by ordnar aboot it. The auld captain made o’ ’t as gien it had been his graven image. That was his stick ye hae i’ yer han’, whaurever ye got it; an’ it was seldom oot o’ his frae mornin’ till nicht. Some wad hae ’t he tuik it til ’s bed wi’ him. I kenna aboot that; but gien by ony accident he set it oot frae ’atween his knees, it was never oot o’ the sicht o’ his e’en. I hae seen him mysel’, missin’ ’t like, luik up o’ a suddent as gien his sowl hed been requiret o’ ’im, an’ grip at it as gien it hed been his proadigal son come hame oonexpeckit.” Cosmo told her where he had found it. “I tellt ye sae!” she cried. “The murderin’ villian cairriet it wi’ him, weel kennin what was intil ’t!” Cosmo showed her the joints and their boxes, telling her he had searched them all, but had found nothing. She shook her head. “Ower late! ower late!” she murmured. “The rievin’ English lord was aforehan’ wi’ the heir!”