He rushed from the house, and across the corner of the yard to the barn-door.
Gibbie, who did not believe he had been seen, stood laughing on the floor, when suddenly he heard the key entering the lock.

He bolted through the cat-hole--but again just one moment too late, leaving behind him on Fergus's retina the light from the soles of two bare feet.

The key of the door to the rick-yard was inside, and Fergus was after him in a moment, but the ricks came close to the barn-door, and the next he saw of him was the fluttering of his rags in the wind, and the flashing of his white skin in the sun, as he fled across the clover field; and before Fergus was over the wall, Gibbie was a good way ahead towards the Lorrie.

Gibbie was a better runner for his size than Fergus, and in better training too; but, alas! Fergus's legs were nearly twice as long as Gibbie's.

The little one reached the Lorrie, first, and dashing across it, ran up the side of the Glashburn, with a vague idea of Glashgar in his head.