"
"Never fash your beard, Mr. Bide-the-Bent," replied Girder; "ane canna
get their breath out here between wives and ministers. I ken best how to
turn my ain cake. Jean, serve up the dinner, and nae mair about it."
Nor did he again allude to the deficiency in the course of the evening.
Meantime, the foreman, mounted on his master's steed, and charged with
his special orders, pricked swiftly forth in pursuit of the marauder
Caleb. That personage, it may be imagined, did not linger by the way. He
intermitted even his dearly-beloved chatter, for the purpose of making
more haste, only assuring Mr. Lockhard that he had made the purveyor's
wife give the wild-fowl a few turns before the fire, in case that
Mysie, who had been so much alarmed by the thunder, should not have her
kitchen-grate in full splendour. Meanwhile, alleging the necessity of
being at Wolf's Crag as soon as possible, he pushed on so fast that his
companions could scarce keep up with him. He began already to think he
was safe from pursuit, having gained the summit of the swelling eminence
which divides Wolf's Crag from the village, when he heard the distant
tread of a horse, and a voice which shouted at intervals, "Mr.
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