Chapter XXV

A whistle shrilled near by, keen, sharp and silvery. John Hazel stiffened at the sound, as a seasoned soldier will. But nothing was in sight but a wee tow-headed laddie, "a kid" John would have called him--in a ragged suit of moleskins, cut down from adult-sized garments, who perched on the topmost round of the hog-backed stile leading into the plantation, and blew a shining whistle, from which a lanyard hung.

The small boy saw John start, and thrilled with secret exultation. To own a silver whistle and have no one to admire you is really little better than having none at all. So he blew again, lustily, with one eye on the big black "soger," and John Hazel pulled up steaming, and passed the time of day....

"Who are you, you queer little beggar, and where did you get that whistle?" he began.

At this the small boy scrambled down from the gate, and came to the roadside. He was a freckled child of eight or so, with wide gaps where first teeth had retired from the conflict, and a nose that sadly needed wiping, and broken festering chilblains on his swollen ears and hands. But his sharp blue eyes were bright on the stranger's as he answered:

"I am nae no beggar ava, but Meggy Proodfoot's wee laddie. An' I fand the bonny whistle in yonner woodie the morn."

By the jerk of the cracked and swollen thumb John guessed "woodie" meant plantation. He said, blowing out his long brown cheeks, and scowling with mock ferocity:

"That's a real soldier's whistle, not a thing for a kid to play with. You should give it to your daddy. He's a soldier, I suppose?"

The small boy returned, grinning:

"I dinna ken--for my daddie is no' a kirk daddie. Some say he maun be Keeper Todd, but my mother says it's no'! She's thinkin' he's the engineer that cam' wi' the steam-thrasher,--an' she ca's me a puir come-by-chance when she has a drappy on. I'm no mindin'!" The freckled face turned up to John's grinned hardily:

"Give me hold of that whistle a minute, you infantile philosopher," said John Hazel, and took it in his hand. It bore the silver hall-mark,--was an officer's signal-whistle. On the butt was engraved in clear fine letters:

"E. A. Yaill (R.C.) Lieut. Col. R. Tweedburgh Infantry Regt."

Here was the clue. Was the secret hidden in that plantation? John Hazel's face became so grim that it terrified the boy.

"Gie me my whustle back, man, an' let me gang awa' hame, noo! Ye'll no tak it fra' me?" he stuttered, blinking back the tears.

"I must take it from you, for I know the man who lost it. But I'll give you half-a-crown instead, to buy another," said John.... "You'll like the new one awfully!" ... John added as the coin changed owners. "And I'll give you another sixpence for sweeties if you'll tell me what else you found in the wood."

"Naething at a' but a bit o' broon cloth--soger's cloth like yon--" A stubby finger pointed at John's sleeve--"stickin' oot o' a tod's howe, an' the bit white string near by."

"You mean the lanyard. Well, then--"

"Eh, then I pu'ed the wee bit string an' the siller whustle cam' oot wi't, an' sae I took the whustle an' ran awa' to pley. An' when I saw ye comin' I thocht ye were the Man. Noo gie me the bawbee!"

"You mean the sixpence! Tell me about the Man you mean,--and earn a shilling instead."

"Ay! The Man was dressed like yoursel is--but grand, like an officer, wi' gowd on his bonnet an' sleeves, an' mair ribbons on his breast. No the day's day, but back in the week, I'm thinkin' it was Monunday!--I seen him comin' doon the road, an' he fleyt me wi' his een."

"He scared you with his eyes? What did you do then?"

"I bude to rin awa' at first, because 'twas gettin' fell mirk-like. An' sair I wantit my tea and lardy-piece. But I didna' rin ower far. I muntit the fence an' keeked roun' a buss, an' saw him loup in ower. An' he gaed intil the woodie, an' cam' oot nae mair!"

Come By Chance pointed with a chilblained hand to the stile of the plantation, and brought the hand deftly back to show its empty palm. The shilling having followed the half-crown into a pocket of the cut-down corduroys:

"Hae ye anither?" the recipient demanded avidly.

"No, but I might give twopence more to hear how the Man came out."

"He didna!"

A shadow seemed to fall on the brightness of the snow, and the wind's bite grew keener. John Hazel echoed:

"Didn't come out? Are you quite sure?"

"Ay, yea! for though I hing aboot to see, he showed nae bone nor feather. An' at lang last--when I'se fell hungert for my piece--an' fain to rin hame to my mither--anither man louped oot intil the road, an' cam' alang by."

"How do you know it wasn't the Man?"

"Because he was no' braw like the ither! He had nae gowd on his bonnet, an' his claithes were hamely like my daddie's,--or they wad be, gin my mither wad own that my daddie was Keeper Todd."

John Hazel suddenly knew that the chill shadow had passed, and that the sun was shining. And he tossed another shilling to Come By Chance, saying:

"There's another bob for you, you queer little rascal. Cut before I change my mind and want the money back!"

And as the tow-headed took to his chilblained heels, revealing in his hurried flight that his shirt-tail hung out through a ragged hole at the back of his corduroys, John Hazel jumping the hog-backed stile, dived into the plantation. Something told him that he would come out much wiser than he went in.