WithhiswhiphebegantotraceaplanoftheScottishbattleuponthedust，andNigelwithknittedbrowswastryinghardtomusterhissmallstockofbrainsandtoprofitbythelecture，whentheirconversationwasinterruptedbyastrangenewarrival。
Itwasaverystoutlittleman，wheezyandpurplewithhaste，whoscuddeddowntherampartasifhewereblownbythewind，hisgrizzledhairflyingandhislongblackgownfloatingbehindhim。
Hewascladinthedressofarespectablecitizen，ablackjerkintrimmedwithsable，ablack-velvetbeaverhatandawhitefeather。
AtthesightofChandoshegaveacryofjoyandquickenedhispacesothatwhenhedidatlastreachhimhecouldonlystandgaspingandwavinghishands。
“Giveyourselftime，goodMasterWintersole，giveyourselftime！”