would happen that the sheep gave more trouble than Millar expected, and precious time was lost, so dawn would come while the farm was still many miles away. Then he would make his way to the bank of the river, which lay in an opposite direction, and leave his dog Yarrow to bring the sheep back to the ground belonging to Murdieston, where they would be quite safe from suspicion if any one passed by.
A short distance from the river was an old square tower, to which the farm-house had been afterwards added, and under the tower was a large cellar, where the stolen sheep were generally concealed. On Sunday mornings, when everybody was off to church, the thieves busied themselves with changing the marks that are always put upon sheep, and replacing with their own those of the real owner. During this operation Yarrow kept watch outside, and never failed to give a warning bark when he caught sight of a stranger on the road or on the hill.
Of course Millar knew quite well that if he went on keeping his robberies to one district he would certainly end by being found out, and that before very long. So, one night, he crossed the Tweed to a lonely farm in the hills of Selkirk, where he managed to get hold of several sheep, and prepared to drive them home. Now sheep have a strange objection to coming down a hillside at night, and still more to crossing a river; so, when Millar, after steering his flock with some difficulty round the shoulder of Wallace's hill, tried to induce them to swim a pool of the Tweed, the elder members of the party became obstinate, and stubbornly refused to budge one inch. It was to no purpose that Millar and Yarrow did everything they could think of to force or persuade. Across that river they would not go, and, to his despair, Millar saw the day breaking over the east, and knew that he must fly at once, if he did not wish his own neck to be in danger. Yet he could not bear to give up his booty just at the last, when he was hardly a quarter of a
