HOW JOHN McCOOK HEARS OF THE PLOY AT THE CLATES.

There is a fate that stalks in the hills and plays with the lives of the folk in the valleys. "You will stop with your mother,"—these were the words that Helen gave her serving-man, John McCook, that night she rode with Bryde, and McCook stayed for a little in his mother's house, and then, being young and of good spirit, he made his way to the inn to be seeing his friends. And he sat with them in McKelvie's place above the quay, and now and then when Robin would be bringing drink into a room a little apart, he would be hearing gusts of laughter, and whiles the snatches of words.

And McCook was wanting to know who would be in the room, to be telling his news when he reached Scaurdale, and he moved his stool so that his ear was near to the crack of the door, and he could see a little into the place. There was great company in that room—McGilp and Dan McBride were there, and Ronald McKinnon and his son Angus, and two or three of the men of the old names who would be sailor-men too, and there was great argument, for the men would be sailing their boats, and their glasses on the table representing the sloops. Once there came high voices and deep oaths when a Kelso luffed his vessel so close to his rival's that he spilled Charleach Ian's glass, but Rob McKelvie righted the vessel and loaded her again with spirits, and the racing would be continued.

As the time went on the voices were none so loud, but still he could hear, and it was Ronny McKinnon that was speaking most, and the tale that came to McCook was this:—

"There would be folk at the South End," said Ronald, "bien folk of his own name some of them, and the harvest was very good for this year, and there would be a considerable of spirit and salt to be taken across quietly. It will be hidden well," said Ronald, "at the Cleiteadh mor, and the Gull will be there in the offing, and send her boats ashore. There will be none to expect a ploy that night, for it will be the night that Hugh McBride will be married on the English lady, and that will be a diversion."

For, indeed, on such an occasion the half of a parish would be merry with the eating of hens and drinking of spirit, and the piping and dancing.

"I will be there," said Dan, "and my son Bryde. It's long since I will have been at the smuggling," and then there came singing of Gaelic songs that you can be hearing yet, and at that McCook took off his dram and went out at the door, for he would be early on the road the next day.

* * * * * *

There is a fate that stalks in the hills and plays with the lives of the folk in the valley.

Kate Dol Beag, as ye ken, was a lass at her service at Scaurdale, a bonny dark ruddy lass and keen for the marrying, and the lad she had her eye on was the serving-man, McCook. And when these two were in the stackyard at Scaurdale and well hidden behind the ricks on the next night, she yoked on him.

"It is not me you are liking," said she, and put his hand from her neck, "for last night you did not come home and me waiting."

"I could not be coming home, my lass," said he, "for the young mistress made me stop at my mother's, and Bryde McBride, the sailor, rode with her."

"Ay," said Kate, "she came home like a lass that goes to her grave-claes instead o' her braws, and never a word from her, but a white hue round her lips and her eyes staring. . . . Did you go to my father's," said Kate, for she was of a jealous nature.

"No, I was at McKelvie's for a wee after I would be with my mother, and
I was thinking Dol Beag your father would be there too."

"There was no lass you were with, then?"—this a little more softly and her body came closer to his.

"There was no lass that I saw," said McCook, "but there were many people at the inn," said he.

"Give me the news, then," she cried, and put an arm round his neck now that she kent he would not have been with another woman. And then he told her how the South End folk would be at the smuggling on the night of the wedding, and all that he had heard, meaning no ill, and the lass was laughing, and her kindness came back to her.

"I will not have been good to you," said she, and lay back against the stack, "and I am wearying this long while for your arms round me, and the jagging of your hair on my face."

And as she sat there was more of her ankle showing than she would maybe be liking in strange company.

"Ye have the fine legs," said John, looking at them, for he would be a great gallant by his way of it; but the lass just smiled and pulled them under her.

"It will be as well ye should ken, my man," said she, "and I will be needing them the morn, for I am to be walking hame and seeing my folk."

And there they were in each other's arms, and he promised to meet her well on, on the road home, for she was feart of the giant that lived in the glen and was killed by the folk long ago—but that is an old wife's tale.

* * * * * *

They were good to her at hame the next day when she was seated with her folk at a meal, and after that she was with her mother for a while, a little red in the face, but brave enough.

"He will be marrying me, mother," said she; "I ken he will be coming to you soon, and—and there will be no cutty-stool either," said she, "for he is a nice lad and dacent, if he will be a little game," maybe thinking of the stackyard.

"Time will be curing that," said her mother.

"I daresay that," and then with a hearty laugh and her head flung back,
"Kate will be helping too," said she, and ran into the kitchen.

Dol Beag, her father, was baiting a long line, his crook back throwing a great black shadow on the wall.

"There will be great doings at your place soon, Kate," said he.

"Ay, there's nae talk but marrying yonder. I am thinking the mistress would rather be having the other man," said she, and rose to put peat on the fire.

"Whatever other man is it?" says the mother.

"Kate will be meaning Dan McBride's bastard," says Dol Beag, and his hand shook a little on the hook.

"He is free with his money whatever, and a fine man they are saying."

"Ay, ay, the father o' him was free with his gifts too," said her father. "They will all be thonder, I am thinking. Laird and leddies and bastards, the whole clamjamfry. We will be hoping for a good day at the time o' the year."

"John McCook would be telling me there will be a ploy that night at the
Cleiteadh mor," said the lass; "the folk will have a cargo ready.
McBride and his son will be there for the ploy," said the lass, "but he
said no' to be speaking of it."

Her father stopped a little at his baiting.

"They were aye the great hands for a ploy," said he, and twitched his shoulder, and the black shadow on the wall wobbled and was still. There came a long whistle as you will hear a shepherd call.

"That will be himsel'," said Kate.

"Fetch the lad in," said the mother, and went to the fire.

Dol Beag took down the great Bible. "We will worship the Lord," said he, "before you will be leaving," and he opened the Book and read, and the voice of him rolled in relish of the Gaelic, and then they kneeled on the bare floor and Dol Beag prayed before his God, and John McCook, opening his eyes, saw his lass smiling to him.

The lad and lass took the hill road in the moonlight, and the mother watching them.

* * * * * *

Dol Beag lay in his bed long, turning and turning like a man not at his ease, and then he rose and put his clothes on him.

"Where will you be going at this hour?" said his wife.

"Woman," said he, "I will have forgotten if the skiff is high on the shore-head, for the wind is away to the west'ard," and he went out into the night.

In an hour maybe he was in again and the cruisie lighted, and again he fell on his knees by the side of the bed and prayed aloud, and his wife would be hearing in her sleep.

"Lord, look on Thy servant. Was not I the straight one before Thee, straight like a young tree, and strong before Thee. Lord, look then from that great mountain. Thy home and Thy dwelling-place, and see me, Thy servant, twisted and gnarled like the roots of a fallen tree. It will be in Thy hands to raise up or cast down, and the wicked are before Thee. Strike, God of Battle, and the raging sea, strike and spare not the wicked, for Thy servant will have waited long."

* * * * * *

Gilchrist, who was now the head of the gangers and preventives, turned on his pillow after Dol Beag had crept out.

"Ay, Mirren Stuart," said he, "Mirren Stuart that rade the Uist pony and laughed at me in my young days—maybe, Mirren, ye will come to my door yet—my back door."

* * * * * *

And those two that took the road up through the Glen by the burnside past the very trees where Bryde and Helen sat on yon June morning when the spider-webs were floating—John and Kate that dawdled on the road, for never was a road too long for young folk in love—these two would be making but the one shadow on the road, for the lass had thrown her shawl over them both, and for a long time they were in the heather, not far from Birrican, at a place they will be calling Oliver's garden—the wherefore I will not know, unless maybe some of Cromwell's men would be killed there, for I have heard the old folk say that Cromwell's garrison at the Castle would be put to the sword; but I have no sure knowledge of the garrison, or of the place of the killing, although I am hoping that the folk did bravely, for it is never in me to be forgiving the Drove at Dunbar. But it was not Dunbar that these lovers were heeding about—ye will have been in the heather with a lass maybe, so you will be guessing that.

"Would you be telling the mother of you that we would be for marrying,
Kate?"

"Yes," said the lass in a whisper, and put her head against the curve of his breast. "I could be sleeping here."

"Och, my lass, it is fine to be sleeping in the heather. My father and his brother would be lying out like the kye in the summer, when they would be at the smuggling, they will be often telling me. And, Kate," said he, "you would not be saying any word o' the ploy at the Cleiteadh mor, for your father, Dol Beag, is not very chief with Dan McBride."

"It will not be spoken of," said she; but the lass held her man the closer. "You will not be thinking of going to that place. I could not be letting you go there now."

"It will be the rent o' the crofts and steadings, the smuggling money," said he, "and sair wrocht for, and if they will not be hindering me, I will be going there. I was hearing at hame that Gilchrist is mad for a new hoose, and he will have the promise of it if he can be putting hands on a still, or 'making seizure,' as they will be naming it."

A shiver went over the lass. "What is it makes ye grue?"

"I am wishing to greet to think you will be leaving me on that night."

"Come hame, lass," said McCook, and shook himself as a horse will shake on a cold day; "there is a goose on my grave too," said he, and laughed and kissed her.