If she had walked well on her out journey, she beat all records on the return.

Sometimes she would run till her breath failed; then she would slow down till anxiety once more quickened her pace.

To her joy, on the Dalquharter side of the Garple bridge she observed the figure of a Die-Hard.

Breathless, flushed, with her bonnet awry and her umbrella held like a scimitar, she seized on the boy.
"Awfu' doin's! They've grippit Maister McCunn up the Mains road just afore the second milestone and forenent the auld bucht.

I fund his hat, and a bicycle's lyin' broken in the wud.