That winter we spent without bacon, and our salt gave out at Christmas. It was at this season, if I remember rightly, that we had another visitor. He arrived about nightfall one gray day, his horse jaded and cut, and he was dressed all in wool, with a great coat wrapped about him, and high boots. This made me stare at him. When my father drew back the bolt of the door he, too, stared and fell back a step.
"Come in," said he.
"D'ye ken me, Alec?" said the man.
He was a tall, spare man like my father, a Scotchman, but his hair was in a cue.
"Come in, Duncan," said my father, quietly. "Davy, run out for wood."
Loath as I was to go, I