CHAPTER XIX
WHAT CAME OF FOPPERY
It was eight by the clock next morning before I set about my thirdcommission. To begin with, the bed pulled, and small wonder, since I hadnot slept in a bed since leaving home. Then I took my fill of the books,finding among them no less a prize than the _editio princeps_ ofVirgil, printed at Rome in 1469, which it was hard to let go. Next therewas Baby Blount to be waited upon, and his mother, a pretty, appealinglady, with the glory of motherhood about her like a fairy garment. Part ofthe ceremonial was the putting of Master Blount into my arms, which wasdone very gingerly, with abundant cautions and precautions against mycrushing or dropping him. He had a skin like white satin and a silverydown on his charming little head. Altogether I thought him a mostdesirable possession for a man to have, and wished he was mine,particularly when, to his father's outspoken chagrin, instead of puling hestared steadily at me with big blue eyes and smiled.
"Precious ikkle ducksy-wucksy," said his mother.
"Ugly ikkle monkey-wonkey," cried his father. "Why the deuce can't hesmile at me?"
"Try him!" said I, handing him over to Sir James, glad to be free of theresponsibility.
Baby Blount looked at his father and smiled again, and it was arevelation to me of the deepest and finest feelings of a man's heart tosee how ravished Sir James was with this first smile of his baby boy's.
"It's you that's changed, James, not our little darling," said his wife."He'll always smile at a face as happy as yours is this morning."
I lingered through these delightful moments over an old book and a newbaby with an easy conscience, for Master Freake had brought me news whichmade my third task much easier. I had not told him what I had in hand todo, thinking it unfair to force the knowledge on him, but he must havemade a good guess at it, for he came to tell me that the latest news fromStone was that the Duke was moving south again at top speed, with theintention of getting between the Prince and London if he could. He told mefurther that Charles had joined Murray at Ashbourne in the small hours,and that their reunited forces had started out for Derby. In all theseimportant matters he was, as is obvious enough now, fully and exactlyinformed, and I expressed my admiration of his thoroughness.
"Business, my dear Oliver, nothing but business. Some great man of oldtime has said 'Knowledge is power.' I'm expanding that a little to fitthese modern days. That's all."
"How does the maxim run now, sir?"
"Knowledge is money and money is power," said he, with a dry smile.
Then, as to matters small in themselves but of more immediate concern tome, he told me that his man, Dot Gibson, had reported that the spy, Weir,had at an early hour ridden off towards Stafford, while the sergeant ofdragoons was still lurking at the "Black Swan." There had been longconsultations between them as if they were acting in concert.
This was likely to be the case. It was a noteworthy fact that the spy hadseen me, and had had an opportunity of denouncing me, before Master Freakehad bowled him over. There was, therefore, reason to suppose that he wouldin any case have remained silent about me--the one man against whom hisevidence was overwhelming. The sergeant of dragoons would, of course, beonly too glad to see me out of action, dead for choice, but in jail as auseful alternative, yet the opportunity of putting me there had been letslip. I could not, try how I would, work out any reasonable explanation oftheir conduct.
I bade good-bye to the Grange, going off with a pressing invitation in myears to return as soon as possible. Master Freake walked at my saddle tillwe were out of earshot of the group in the open doorway.
"We meet again at Derby, Oliver," he said, holding out his hand.
"That's good news, sir. I shall be there by six o'clock to-night."
"Keep a good look out for the sergeant. He and his precious master meanto have you if they can. They've a heavy score against you, lad."
"It will be heavier before the account's settled, sir."
"You shall have your tilt at 'em, Oliver. You'll enjoy it, and I've nofear as to the result. But take care! Ride in the middle of the road, andkeep your eye on every bush. Brocton has half a regiment of thorough-pacedblackguards at his service and will compass hell itself to fetch you down.What about money?"
"I've plenty and to spare," I answered, "thanks to your generous loan."
"No loan, lad, but my first contribution to the expenses of--what shallwe say for safety? Your tour. How will that do?"
"Nay, sir--"
"Yea. Oliver, and no more said. My favourite rate is ten per cent. You'velet me off with a paltry two."
"I do not like joking in money matters, sir."
"John Freake joking in money matters?" said he, smiling. "Tell it notwhen you get to town, Oliver, or you'll be the ruin of a hard-wonreputation. I sent you sixty guineas odd."
"Yes, sir."
"Which is, to be precise, slightly less than two per cent of what yousaved me when you snatched me out of the dirty grip of Brocton's rascals.I had a good thick slice of his lordship's patrimony in my pocket. Off yougo, lad! Sultan is impatient at my trifling. So ho! You beauty! Good-bye!"
"Good-bye, sir!" I cried heartily, swinging my new hat in a grand bow.
* * * * *
At three o'clock in the afternoon, having ridden hard and far withoutbite or sup, I came out in a little hamlet huddled about the great Londonroad where it ran along the hem of a forest, and drew rein before the"Seven Stars." I was to be in presence with my report at six o'clock, and,as Derby was only fifteen miles off and the road one of the best, therewas ample time for Sultan and me to take the rest and refreshment we bothstood in need of.
I was, too, in need of quiet and leisure to get my report straightenedout in my mind ready for delivery. The largeness and looseness of mycommission left everything to my discretion, with the vexatious resultthat I had discovered nothing. I had, indeed, carried out my orders. I hadbeen so far west of Derby that I had seen the famous spires of Lichfieldcutting into the sky like three lance-heads, and had learned on abundantand trustworthy evidence that the Duke's forces there were leaving for thesouth, under orders to march with all speed to their original camp atMerriden Heath. This squared exactly with Master Freake's news, and wasall the stock of positive information I had got together.
Of the kind of news the Prince would best like to hear there was none. Ofpreparations to join him, none. Of open well-wishers to his cause, none.The time when the Stuart banner could rally a host around it had gonebeyond recall. There was no violent feeling the other way. People simplydid not care. The old watchwords were powerless. The old quarrel had beenrevived in a world that had forgotten it, and would not be reminded of it.It was Charles and his Highlanders against George and his regiments, andas the latter were sure to win, nobody bothered. It is the strange butexact truth that the only sign I discovered of the great event inprogress, was to come across a group of four respectable men of the middlestation in life bargaining with an innkeeper for the hire of a chaise, inwhich they meant to drive to watch the Highlanders march by. They werevery keen to bate him a shilling, and as indifferent as four oysters tothe issues at stake.
Riding into the inn-yard, I shouted to the host to get me his bestdinner, and, while it was preparing, I overlooked the grooming and baitingof Sultan. I left him comfortable and content, and strolled indoors tolook after my own needs.
Though on the London road, and only fifteen miles from the scene ofaction, the inn was quiet. I learned from the host that a courier hadgalloped through an hour before, spurring southwards, and cried out fromthe saddle that the bare-legs were only five miles from Derby when heleft. Earlier in the day a cart had driven through loaded up with thegowns of the town dignitaries, "going to Leicester to be done up,"explained the host, delighted with his own shrewdness.
A hunger-bitten traveller with a good dinner in front of him commonlypays no attention for the time being to anything else. I found two men inthe guest-room, and, after a civil greeting, which
made one of them openhis eyes and mouth very uncivilly, I sat down to eat, very content withthe fare set before me.
As my hunger steadily abated before a steady attack on a cold roastsirloin of most commendable quality, I began to take more interest in thetwo men. In fact, more interest in them was forced on me by the beginningsof a pretty quarrel between them, and by the time I had got to the cheese,they, utterly regardless of my presence, were at it hammer and tongs. Therow was about a horse-deal lately passed between them, and there are fewthings men can quarrel about more easily or more vigorously. The yokel whohad gaped at me, had been cheated by his companion, and was accordinglyresentful.
Two men more at odds in outward appearance could not easily have beenfound. The gaper was plain country, a big, bulky man, with a paunch that,as he sat, sagged nearly to his knees, a triple chin, and a nose with aknobly end, in shape and colour like an overripe strawberry. His companionwas a little fellow, lean and sharp-cut, with a head like a ferret's. Wecountry-siders know your Londoner. Many an hour I had sat under the clumpof elms at the lane-end and watched the travellers. Hence, doubtless, mytaste in fashionable head-gear, like this of mine, lately belonging toSwift Nicks, now disposed carefully on the table at my side. I would havewagered it against Joe Braggs' frowsy old milking-cap that the little manwas a Londoner.
Little as he was, his cold, calculating anger overbore his antagonist,who was no great hand at stating his case, good as it was.
"The landlord knows me and knows the gelding," said the little man. "Youknow less about horses than a Mile End tapster. Fetch him in, and let himdecide. I suppose you rode him!"
"What a God's name, d'ye think I bought him for, Mr. Wicks? To look at?"
"By the look of you I should think you bought him as a present for ababy. Sixteen stone six if you're an ounce, and riding a two-year-old!Damme, no wonder he throws out curbs! Fetch the landlord, I tell ye!"
Out burst the fat man in a great fury, and in a minute or two came backwith the landlord and an ostler. Then the wrangle became hotter and moreamusing than ever.
Finally, the little man, losing all patience, drew a pistol, whereon thebig man ran backwards, shrieking "Murder!" Not heeding where he was going,he tumbled up against my table, and jammed it hard against my midriff.
I attempted to rise but was too late. The fat man seized my wrists, thelandlord and the ostler ran round, and pinned me to the chair, and thelittle man held the barrel of the pistol to my forehead.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Swift Nicks!" said he.
I dare say my liver was turning the colour of chalk, but, though I'm tooeasily frightened, I'm always too proud to show it, which has unjustly gotme the character of being a brave man.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Too-swift Wicks!" I retorted.
"What d'ye mean?" he asked, plainly disconcerted.
"I mean," said I, "that the zeal of your office hath eaten you up."
"What the hell does he mean?" he asked, appealing to the company.
"Damn my bones if I know," answered the host. "I've 'eerd parson saysommat like it in church a Sundays. He's one of these 'ere sillyscholards."
"They do say as how Swift Nicks is a scholard," put in the ostler wisely.
"There's no time for chattering," said I. "Take me at once before ajustice. That's the law, and you know it. I warn you that any delay willbe dangerous. My cocksure friend here is already in for actions forassault, battery, slander, false imprisonment, and the Lord knows what. Mygad, sir, I'll give you a roasting at the assizes. Take me off at once tothe nearest magistrate. I'll have the law on you before another hour'sout."
My energy flustered the Londoner, who had sense enough to know the perilof his being wrong, but the fat man, dull as an ox, cheered him on.
"He's Swift Nicks right enough, Master Wicks," he said. "Pocket full ofpistols, four on 'em; a chap of the right size, a matter of six feet odd;hereabouts, where he is known to be; speaks like a gentleman; and, damme,I saw Swift Nicks myself with my own eyes not two yards off, and that'sSwift Nicks' hat or I'm a Dutchman; I know'd it again the minute he walkedinto the room."
"Damn the hat!" cried I heartily enough, but feeling very crestfallen atthis telling piece of evidence against me.
The little man snatched it up and looked carefully at the inside of it, athing I had never done, being wrapped up in its outside.
"There y'are!" he cried triumphantly. "'S. N. His hat.' What more d'yewant?"
"I want the nearest magistrate," cried I.
"Well, Mr. Wicks," said the fat man, "he can easily have what he wants.It's only a matter o' two mile to the Squire's."
"Squire'll welly go off 'is yed," remarked the host. "He's that sot onseeing Swift Nicks swing."
"Then he'll very likely go bail for Mr. Wicks," said I.
"Will he?" said Mr. Wicks sourly.
"If he don't," I retorted, "you'll spend the night in Leicester jail."
"They do say as 'ow Swift Nicks is a rare plucked 'un," said the ostler.
"Then they're liars," said I.
I was handcuffed and put on Sultan, with my feet roped together under hisbelly. Then we started off, and the whole village, which had dozed inpeace with the Highlanders only five hours off, turned out gaily andjoyously to see Swift Nicks. The landlord left his guests, and the ostlerhis horses, to go with us, and at least a score of villagers, mostlywomen, joined in and made a regular pomp of it. Once or twice we met a manwho cried, "What's up?" and at the response, "Swift Nicks," he addedhimself to the procession and was regaled, as he trudged along, with anaccount of the affray at the inn. My capture was exceedingly popular, andthey gloated to my face over the doom in store for me, wrangling likerooks as to the likeliest spot for my gibbet. The majority fixed it at theCopt Oak, where, as they reminded me with shrill curses, I had murderedpoor old Bet o' th' Brew'us for a shilling and sixpence. It was a reliefto hear the host shout to Master Wicks, "Yon's th' Squire's!"
We trooped up to a fair stone house of ancient date with a turret at thetip of each wing. My luck was clean out. The Squire was not yet back homefrom hunting, for he went out with the hounds every day the scent wouldlie. He had ridden far, or was belated, or his horse had foundered, andthere was no telling, said his ruddy old butler, when he would be back. Sothe villagers were driven off like cattle, Sultan was stabled, and we fivewere accommodated in the great hall, for the host and the ostler stayed onthe ground that so dangerous a villain as Swift Nicks wanted a strongguard. They put me under the great chimney and sat round me, in a halfcircle, each man with a loaded pistol in one hand and a jug of ale in theother. The Squire's lady came in and stood afar off examining me, and Isaw that she was in deadly fear of me, handcuffed and guarded as I was.
Over an hour crawled by, taking with it my last chance of getting intoDerby, with my task accomplished, by six o'clock. What would Margaretthink of me? Her obvious pride in the honour the Prince had conferred uponme by selecting me as his personal helper, had been a great delight to me,and now I had failed him and disquieted her. The thought made me rage, andI gave my captors black looks worthy of any tobie-man on the King'shighway.
At last relief came in the shape of the Squire's youngest son, a stoutlad of some twelve years old, who raced in, rod in hand, and made up to mewithout a trace of fear. He was in trouble about his rod, having snappedthe top joint in unhandily dealing with a fine chub. After some wrangling,I got my hands freed, and set about splicing the joint.
"They do say," said I mockingly, "as how Swift Nicks is a good hand atsplicing fishing-rods."
"I never 'eerd tell of that'n," said the stolid ostler.
"Are you really Swift Nicks, sir?" asked the lad, looking steadily at mewith frank, innocent eyes.
"No more than you are Jonathan Wild or Prester John, my son," I answered.
"Then who are you?" he persisted.
"I'm a poor splicer of fishing-rods. I get my living by riding about thecountry on a fine horse, with one pair of pistols in my holsters andanother pai
r in my pocket, looking for nice little boys with brokenfishing-rods, and mending 'em--the rods, not the boys--so that fathernever finds it out and the rod's better than ever it was. How big was thechub?"
"That big!" said he, holding his hands about two feet apart.
"The great advantage, my son, of having your rod mended by me is thatever afterwards you'll be able to tell a chub from a whale."
"Sir," said he proudly, "a Chartley never lies."
"Of course," said I, "it's hard to say exactly how big a fish is whenyou've missed him. So your name's Chartley. Is this Chartley Towers?"
"It is," said he, with a taking boyish pride ringing in his voice. "Weare the Chartleys of Chartley Towers. We go back to Edward the Third."
Did ever man enjoy such fat luck as mine? I had been as hard beset as anut in the nutcrackers. To prove that I was not Swift Nicks I should haveto prove that I was Oliver Wheatman. The Bow Street runner would see tothat, for, as Swift Nicks, I was worth fifty guineas to him, a sum ofmoney for which he would have hanged half the parish without a twinge.Cross or pile, I should lose the toss. Drive away the cart! Such had beenmy thoughts, and now a lad's young pride had snatched me out of danger. Igrew quite merry over the splicing, and told young Chartley all about myfight with the great jack.
The job was near on finished when there was a rattle of hoofs without,and, a minute later, the door was flung open and in swept a torrent ofyapping foxhounds, followed by a big, hearty, noisy man in jack-boots anda brown scratch bob-wig.
"Dinner! Dinner!" he shouted to his wife, who came in to meet him. "Thebest run o' the year, lass! Thirty miles before he earthed, the dogsrunning breast-high every yard of it, and the very devil of a dig-out!There was only me and parson and young Bob Eld o' Seighford in at thedeath. Dinner, dinner, my lass! I could eat the side of a house. Hallo,damme! What art doing here, Jack Grattidge?"
The question was put to the host, who was shuffling down the hall to meethim. The Squire slashed the dogs silent with his half-hunter to catch thereply.
"Please, y'r honour," said the host, "we've copped Swift Nicks."
"By G--! You a'nt!"
"We 'an," declared the host.
"Hurrah!" roared the Squire. "That's news! I owe you a guinea for it,Jack."
He clumped up to the hearth, crying out as he came, "Show me the black,bloody scoundrel! I'd crawl to London on my hands and knees to watch himturned off."
Seeing me engaged in the innocent task of mending his lad's fishing-rod,with the lad himself at my knees intent on the work, he took Mr. Wicks forthe highwayman, and cursed and swore at him hard enough to rive anoak-tree. He was, indeed, so hot and heady that it was some minutes beforehis mistake could be brought home to him. By the time he realized that theman mending the rod was Swift Nicks, he had fired off all his powder, andonly stared at me with wide-open eyes.
"I suppose," said I, very politely, "that, as you've been hunting, thechestnut is still on the hob."
"I'm damned!" says he, and flops down into his elbow-chair.
* * * * *
In the end we made a treaty, to Mr. Wicks' great disgust, who saw theguineas slipping through his fingers. Nor was the Squire less aggrieved atfirst, for clearly it was to him a matter of high concern to nail SwiftNicks.
"What's it matter to us here who's got a crown on his head in London?" hesaid. "London-folk care nothing for us, and we care nothing for them. ButSwift Nicks does matter. We want him hung. No man about here with anysense bothers about your politics except at election-times, when politicsmeans a belly full of beer and a fist full of guineas for every damnedtinker and tallow-chandler in Leicester. But you, or that bloody villainSwift Nicks, if you a'nt him, keep us sweating-cold o' nights. To hellwith your politics! Hang me Swift Nicks!"
The terms of our treaty were that I was to remain peaceably and make anight of it, giving my word to make no attempt to escape or harm anyone.In the meantime, and at my proper charges, a post was to be sent to fetchNance Lousely and her father to give evidence on my behalf.
"DEAR GHOSTIE,"--I wrote to her,--"I am in great danger because ared-nosed man vows I am Swift Nicks. I want you and your father to comeand prove he's an ass. If you don't I am to be hung on a gibbet at a placecalled the Copt Oak, and I can't abide gibbets, for they are cold anddraughty. So come at once, my brave Nance!--Your friend,
"O. W."
A groom was fetched and I told him how to get to Job Lousely's. He waswell mounted from the Squire's stables and set off. However quickly he didhis business, it would be many hours before he could be back. So I settleddown to make a night of it.
There was nothing original in the Squire's way of making a night of it.The parson who had been in at the death and who, during the settlement ofmy affair, had been busy in the stables, now joined us at dinner. He wasbut lately come from Cambridge, at which seat of learning the chief booksappeared to be Bracken's _Farriery_ and Gibson on the _Diseases ofHorses_, with Hoyle's _Whist_ as lighter reading for leisuredhours. He was a hard rider, a hard swearer, and a hard drinker, and, afterbeing double japanned, as he called it, by a friendly bishop, had beenpitchforked by the Squire into a neighbouring parish of three hundred ayear in order that the Squire's dogs and hounds, and the game and poacherson the estate, might have the benefit of his ministrations. He had,however, sense enough to buy good sermons. "At any rate the women tell methey're good," explained the Squire. "I can't say for myself, for Joe's areasonable cock, and always shuts up as soon as I wake up."
The Bow Street runner, Mr. Wicks, and the red-nosed petty constable ofthe hundred, who answered to the name of Pinkie Yates, were of the party.I ate little and drank less, but the others emptied the bottles at agreat pace and were soon hot with drink. One brew, which the huntsmenquaffed with much zest, I insisted, out of regard for my stomach, onpassing round untouched, though the men of law took their share likeheroes, and, I doubt not, thought they were for once hob-nobbing with thegods. The manner of it was thus. The parson drew from his pocket a leg ofthe fox they had killed that day, and, stinking, filthy, and bloody as itwas, squeezed and stirred it in a four-handled tyg of claret. In this evilcompound the Squire solemnly gave us the huntsman's toast:
"_Horses sound. Dogs hearty, Earth's stopped, and Foxes plenty_."
The parson then hiccoughed a song for which he should have been put inthe stocks, after which Mr. Wicks, with three empty bottles and threeknives to stand for the gallows, gave us a vivid account of theturning-off of the famous Captain Suck Ensor, who kicked and twitched forten minutes before his own claimed him.
It was five o'clock next morning before my courier returned with NanceLousely and her father. I had gone to sleep in the Squire's elbow-chairbefore the hall fire, with the zealous thief-takers in attendance, turnand turn about, as sentries over me, fifty guineas being well worthguarding. The butler watched at the door, wakefully anxious to earn thecrown I had promised him. The noise he made in unchaining and unboltingthe door awakened me, and it warmed my heart to see Nance standing timidlyjust inside the hall, her hand in her father's, till she spied me, whenshe broke away and ran up to me.
"You knew I'd come, sir, didn't you?" she said, appealing to me more withher pretty anxious face than by her words.
"Of course, ghostie!" I replied promptly.
"Thank you, sir!" she said, with evident relief. At a trace of doubt inmy words or face, she would have broken down.
"Don't be a goose, ghostie," said I. "Sit down and get warm! And how areyou. Job? Much obliged to you both."
"We'n ridden main hard to get here, sir. Your mon didna get t'our 'ouseafore one o'clock, an' we wor on the way afore ha'f-past. Gom! We worthat'n. Our Nance nearly bust. Gom, she did that'n."
"Your Nance is a darling," said I, stroking her disordered hair.
At my request backed by a promise to turn the crown into half a guinea,the butler got them some breakfast. Fortunately the Squire and the parsonwere due at a duck-shooting ten miles off b
y seven o'clock, and so werestirring early. My matter was soon settled. The Squire sat magisteriallyin his elbow-chair, and Nance and her father told their tale, precisely asI had told it before them. It cleared me and made the thief-catchers lookmightily confused and sheepish, and very relieved they were when, as apolitic way of staving off awkward questions, I grandly accepted theirapologies.
"I knew you weren't Swift Nicks," said the Squire, "when I saw youmending my lad's fishing-rod. Damme, we'll get him though, before we'vedone."
He invited me to join him at breakfast, where we were alone for the firsttime.
"Is it into the fire or into the fender?" he asked meaningly.
I was ready for him and, stopping with the carving knife half-way througha fine ham I was slicing, said, as if amazed, "Is what into the fire orinto the fender?"
"The chestnut," said he.
"The chestnut!" I retorted.
"Well, well! I don't blame you for your caution, sir. Sir James Blountsounded me and I know you know my reply. Whether fire or fender will makeno difference to me, and I wouldn't miss to-day's duck-shoot to make iteither."
"I hope there'll be plenty of birds, and strong on the wing," said I.
This ended all the talk that passed between us on the great event thathad so strangely brought us together. He, the squire of half a dozenvillages, went duck-shooting while the destiny of England was beingsettled just outside his own door.
For the second time Nance walked a space by my side to wish me good-bye.
"Nance, my sweet lass," said I, pulling Sultan up, "do you know thatdirty little ale-house near your home?"
"Where the painted woman lives, sir?"
"That very place! Now Swift Nicks is hiding there. Go back and tell theSquire you can find Swift Nicks for him, and they'll fill your pinner withguineas. You'll kiss me for a pinnerfull of guineas, won't you?"
"No, sir," said she very decidedly.
"Then kiss me, Nance, because, though we shall never meet again, we'vehelped one another when we did meet."
She put her foot on mine, and I lifted her up in my arms and kissed herred young lips and tear-stained cheeks.
"Good-bye, Nance!"
"Good-bye, sir. God bless you!"
At a bend in the road I turned to look at her again. She was standingthere, looking after me, and waved her bonnet in farewell. I took off myhat and waved back, and then she was gone from sight.
"She's a good girl is Nance," said I aloud, "and you, curse you, are thecause of all my troubles"--this to my new hat. My foppery had cost medear. What would the Prince say to my failure? What would Margaret say?There would once more be questionings in her eyes, and the shadow of doubton her face.
"Curse you!" I said again to the hat, and then, with a swift, strongsweep of my arm, sent it spinning into a brook.
Sultan showed his points. He did ten miles in fifty minutes by my watch,accurate timing and counting from one milestone to another.
At last the broad Trent came in sight and I rattled over Swarkstonbridge, only to be pulled up on the other side by a strong post ofHighlanders. My luck still held, however, for Donald was amongst them,and, on his explaining who I was, the chief in command let me pass.
Donald trotted by my side for half a mile to give me all the news. ThePrince had lain all night at Derby in the Earl of Exeter's house. Therehad been many rumours and wranglings among the chiefs at night, a councilof war was fixed for this morning, and no one knew what it was all about.There had been great doings overnight in the town, and he, Donald, hadstood guard at the Prince's lodging.
"She dinged 'em a', as I tell't ye she would," he said. "Losh, man, itwas a grand sight to see her an' the bonny Maclachlan gliding ower taflure in ta dancin'. They were like twa gowden eagles gliding in the airower a ben wi' ta sun shinin' on it. Losh, man, I tell it ye, they're abonny, bonny pair. Got pless 'em."
"Good-bye, Donald! I'll push on. Damn Swift Nicks!" I cried, and gaveSultan such a dig in the flanks that he shot ahead like an arrow from abow. I was sorry immediately, but it was more than I could stand.
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