He was hard at work in the execution of
this project, on the third night, or rather late afternoon: they called
it _forenight_ there.
CHAPTER XVII.
"What can that be, mem, awa ower the toon there?" said Mary to her
mistress, as in passing she peeped out of the window, the blind of
which Alec had drawn up behind the curtain.
"What is it, Mary?"
"That's jist what I dinna ken, mem. It canna be the rory-bories, as
Alec ca's them. It's ower blue.--It's oot.--It's in agin.--It's no
canny.--And, preserves a'! it's crackin' as weel," cried Mary, as the
subdued sound of a far-off explosion reached her.
This was of course no other than the roar of Curly's gun in the act of
bursting and vanishing; for neither stock, lock, nor barrel was ever
seen again. It left the world like a Norse king on his fire-ship. But,
at the moment, Alec was too busy in the depths of his snow-vault to
hear or see the signals.
By-and-by a knock came to the kitchen door, Mary went and opened it.
"Alec's at hame, I ken," said a rosy boy, almost breathless with past
speed and present excitement.
"Hoo ken ye that, my man?" asked Mary.
"'Cause the flag's fleein'.
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