It was now time he should resume his journey up Daurside, and he set out to follow the burn that he might regain¹ the river. It led him into a fine meadow, where a number of cattle were feeding. The meadow was not fenced—little more than marked off, indeed, upon one side, from a field of growing corn, by a low wall of earth, covered with moss² and grass and flowers. The cattle were therefore herded³ by a boy, whom Gibbie recognized even in the distance as him by whose countenance⁵ he had been so much attracted when, like an old deity⁶ on a cloud, he lay spying through the crack in the ceiling. The boy was reading a book, from which every now and then he lifted his eyes to glance around him, and see whether any of the cows or heifers or stirks were wandering beyond their pasture of rye-grass and clover. Having them all before him, therefore no occasion to look behind, he did not see Gibbie approaching. But as soon as he seemed thoroughly⁷ occupied, a certain black cow, with short sharp horns and a wicked look, which had been gradually, as was her wont⁸, edging nearer and nearer to the corn, turned suddenly and ran for it, jumped the dyke⁹, and plunging¹⁰ into a mad revelry of greed, tore and devoured¹¹ with all the haste not merely of one insecure, but of one that knew she was stealing. Now Gibbie had been observant enough during his travels to learn that this was against the law and custom of the country—that it was not permitted to a cow to go into a field where there were no others—and like a shot he was after the black marauder. The same instant the

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