Happily he was not very far from home, and he made for it as fast as he could--preceded by Oscar, who, having once by accident been shot himself, had a mortal terror of guns.

Maimed as Gibbie was, he could yet run a good deal faster up hill than the rascal who followed him.

But long before he reached the cottage, the pain had arrived, and the nearer he got to it the worse it grew.

In spite of the anguish, however, he held on with determination; to be seized by Angus and dragged down to Glashruach, would be far worse.
Robert Grant was at home that day, suffering from rheumatism.

He was seated in the ingle-neuk, with his pipe in his mouth, and Janet was just taking the potatoes for their dinner off the fire, when the door flew open, and in stumbled Gibbie, and fell on the floor.