Violet Jacob > Flemington

FLEMINGTON
responsible sooner than he expected, and at present
he was a free man. He roused his team, tucked
his pipes into their corner of the cart, and, guiding
himself carefully between the trees, issued from
the thicket like some ribald vision of goblinry
escaped from the world of folk-lore.
He turned towards Brechin, and set off for
the town at a brisk trot, the yellow dog strain¬
ing at his harness, and his comrades taking
their pace from him. Every inch of the road was
known to Wattie, every tree and tuft, every rut
and hole; and as there were plenty of these last,
he bumped and swung along in a way that would
have dislocated the bones of a lighter person.
The violent roughness of his progress was what
served him for exercise and kept him in health.
There were not many houses near the highway,
but the children playing round the doors of the
few he passed hailed him with shouts, and he
answered them, as he answered everyone, with
his familiar wag of the head.
When he entered Brechin and rolled past the
high, circular shaft of its round tower, the world
made way for him with a grin, and when it was
not agile enough to please him, he heralded
himself with a shrill note from the chanter, which
he had unscrewed from his pipes. Business was
business with him. He meant to lie in the town
to-night, but he was anxious to get on to Fleming-
ton’s tracks before the scent was cold.
He drove to the Swan inn and entered the yard,
and there he had the satisfaction of seeing Archie’s