at the market.
There was nothing heroic in the appearance of Dorcas Barbour. She was short, stout, red-faced and plain, straightforward, and rocklike in her conviction. I felt a pang of envy. She knew with complete certainty that the cause of the Covenanters was right. She had no doubt that the king's desire to make himself the head of the church in Scotland, and rule it through his bishops, was worth resisting with everything she had. She was ready to give her husband to the struggle. I felt sure, looking at her standing there, with her work-reddened hands clasped at her thick waist, that she was ready to die for it herself.
I was used to my uncle's passionate Presbyterianism, but I sensed that his enthusiasm was made less harsh by the sweetness of his temper and the softness of his love for his family. There was nothing soft about Mistress Barbour.
I don't feel like she does about anything, I thought. I wish I did. I don't care enough about anything to die for it.
"Where have they taken Stephen, did they say?" Mistress Barbour demanded.
"Oh, Dorcas, my dear, you must be so desperately worried!" Aunt Blair clutched Andrew to her shoulder, rubbing his back as if in solidarity. Uncle Blair frowned.
"They didn't say. But it will be to Paisley first. The tolbooth in Glasgow tomorrow, I suppose."
"Did they talk of a penalty? A fine? A trial? Or were they—wouldi tbe a—asum maryex ecution?"
In spite of her strength, her voice wavered.
"I can tell you nothing more. I wish I could. But they have nothing on him, you know. He wasn't caught attending a meeting of worship in the hills. He wasn't in the company of a wanted preacher. All he did was protest against the persecution of Mr. Renwick and try to defend the man's good name."
Mistress Barbour had recovered herself and nodded briskly.
"Thank you, Mr. Blair. That's a comfort. Now I've a favor to ask."
"Oh, anything!" cried Aunt Blair. "We'll have the children over, cook their food, take care of the cattle—"
"Lend me your horse," interrupted Mistress Barbour. "My old pony's gone lame. I'll ride to Paisley and see the officer. Lieutenant Dundas was his name, Ritchie said. Isn't that so? I have money put by in case of such a day. The king's servants are crooks to a man. They'll sell him back to me for a price."
"Let me go instead!" said Ritchie, his face flushing with eagerness. I could see that he was still filled with rage at his helplessness in the face of the dragoons and was desperate for action.
"I wouldn't hear of it." Mistress Barbour shook her head, forestalling Aunt Blair's anxious objection. "If the case needed a young man, I'd send my own David, but he's a hothead, too, and would only get into worse trouble than his father. Anyway, you're forgetting the wicked new law forbidding travel without a pass. A young man is sure to attract attention, but no one will notice an old woman on a nag. And if I'm stopped and questioned, I'll remind them of my midwife's skills and state that I'm summoned to assist a poor soul in trouble, which will be no lie at all, for Stephen's in worse trouble than he's ever been. In spite of your kind words, Mr. Blair, I really fear that they may have already shot him without a trial. He wouldn't be the first to be murdered in such a way."
"Not your Stephen! Oh, Dorcas, no!" said Aunt Blair with a shudder. Mistress Barbour frowned, not liking this display of feeling, and without another word Uncle Blair and Ritchie went out to the yard and brought the horse up to the door.
"That's a brave woman," Uncle Blair said, coming back to the kitchen, as the clop of the old horse's hooves died away. "If anyone can face down the enemy, it's Dorcas Barbour."
"Hugh! Sit down. Your wound's still bleeding," commanded Aunt Blair, looking a little put out.
Ritchie went to the fire and gave the burning peat a savage kick, sending sparks flying.
"Is she right, Father? Do you think Mr. Barbour's been executed already?"
Uncle Blair let out a groan.
"It's possible. Look what happened to William Lyle and Patrick Holm. Taken up at an open-air meeting, drummed out by a couple of soldiers into their own fields, and shot. You saw the arrogance, the cruelty of that man—that officer."
"Fouling our well! And ruining our cheese!" cried Aunt Blair.
"It's worse than that, Mother," said Ritchie. "They've slit