Naething like road-metal!" A confused chorus of suggestions and exclamations now arose, in the midst of which Willie Macwha, whose cognomen was Curly-pow, came up.

He was not often the last in a conspiracy.

His arrival had for the moment a sedative effect.
"Here's Curly! Here's Curly!" "Weel, is't a' sattled ?" asked he.
"She's condemned, but no execute yet," said Grumpie.
"Hoo are we to win at her ?" asked Cadger.
"That's jist the pint," said Divot.
"We canna weel kill her in her ain yard," suggested Houghie.
"Na.

We maun bide our time, an' tak her when she's oot aboot," said the General.
"But wha's to ken that?
an' hoo are we to gather ?" asked Cadger, who seemed both of a practical and a despondent turn of mind.
"Noo, jist haud yer tongues, an' hearken to me," said Alec.
The excited assembly was instantly silent.
"The first thing," began Alec, "is to store plenty o' ammunition." "Ay, ay, General." "Haud yer tongues .-- Whaur had we best stow the stanes, Curly ?" "In oor yard.

They'll never be noticed there." "That'll do.