Redgauntlet: A Tale Of The Eighteenth Century

by Walter Scott

  CHAPTER XII

  NARRATIVE OF ALAN FAIRFORD, CONTINUED

  The room was no sooner deprived of Mr. Maxwell of Summertrees'spresence, than the provost looked very warily above, beneath, and aroundthe apartment, hitched his chair towards that of his remaining guest,and began to speak In a whisper which could not have startled 'thesmallest mouse that creeps on floor.'

  'Mr. Fairford,' said he, 'you are a good lad; and, what is more, you aremy auld friend your father's son. Your father has been agent for thisburgh for years, and has a good deal to say with the council; so therehave been a sort of obligations between him and me; it may have been nowon this side and now on that; but obligations there have been. I am buta plain man, Mr. Fairford; but I hope you understand me?'

  'I believe you mean me well, provost; and I am sure,' replied Fairford,'you can never better show your kindness than on this occasion.'

  'That's it--that's the very point I would be at, Mr. Alan,' replied theprovost; 'besides, I am, as becomes well my situation, a stanch friendto kirk and king, meaning this present establishment in church andstate; and so, as I was saying, you may command my best--advice.'

  'I hope for your assistance and co-operation also,' said the youth.

  'Certainly, certainly,' said the wary magistrate. 'Well, now, you seeone may love the kirk, and yet not ride on the rigging of it; and onemay love the king, and yet not be cramming him eternally down the throatof the unhappy folk that may chance to like another king better. I havefriends and connexions among them, Mr. Fairford, as your father may haveclients--they are flesh and blood like ourselves, these poor Jacobitebodies--sons of Adam and Eve, after all; and therefore--I hope youunderstand me?--I am a plain-spoken man.'

  'I am afraid I do not quite understand you,' said Fairford; 'and if youhave anything to say to me in private, my dear provost, you had bettercome quickly out with it, for the Laird of Summertrees must finish hisletter in a minute or two.'

  'Not a bit, man--Pate is a lang-headed fellow, but his pen does notclear the paper as his greyhound does the Tinwald-furs. I gave hima wipe about that, if you noticed; I can say anything toPate-in-Peril--Indeed, he is my wife's near kinsman.'

  'But your advice, provost,' said Alan, who perceived that, like a shyhorse, the worthy magistrate always started off from his own purposejust when he seemed approaching to it.

  'Weel, you shall have it in plain terms, for I am a plain man. Ye see,we will suppose that any friend like yourself were in the deepest holeof the Nith, sand making a sprattle for your life. Now, you see, suchbeing the case, I have little chance of helping you, being a fat,short-armed man, and no swimmer, and what would be the use of my jumpingin after you?'

  'I understand you, I think,' said Alan Fairford. 'You think that DarsieLatimer is in danger of his life?'

  'Me!--I think nothing about it, Mr. Alan; but if he were, as I trust heis not, he is nae drap's blood akin to you, Mr. Alan.'

  'But here your friend, Summertrees,' said the young lawyer, 'offers me aletter to this Redgauntlet of yours--What say you to that?'

  'Me!' ejaculated the provost, 'me, Mr. Alan? I say neither buff norstye to it--But ye dinna ken what it is to look a Redgauntlet in theface;--better try my wife, who is but a fourth cousin, before ye ventureon the laird himself--just say something about the Revolution, and seewhat a look she can gie you.'

  I shall leave you to stand all the shots from that battery, provost.'replied Fairford. 'But speak out like a man--Do you think Summertreesmeans fairly by me?'

  'Fairly--he is just coming--fairly? I am a plain man, Mr. Fairford--butye said FAIRLY?'

  'I do so,' replied Alan, 'and it is of importance to me to know, andto you to tell me if such is the case; for if you do not, you may be anaccomplice to murder before the fact, and that under circumstances whichmay bring it near to murder under trust.'

  'Murder!--who spoke of murder?' said the provost; no danger of that, Mr.Alan--only, if I were you--to speak my plain mind'--Here he approachedhis mouth to the ear of the young lawyer, and, after another acute pangof travail, was safely delivered of his advice in the following abruptwords:--'Take a keek into Pate's letter before ye deliver it.'

  Fairford started, looked the provost hard in the face, and was silent;while Mr. Crosbie, with the self-approbation of one who has at lengthbrought himself to the discharge of a great duty, at the expense of aconsiderable sacrifice, nodded and winked to Alan, as if enforcing hisadvice; and then swallowing a large glass of punch, concluded, withthe sigh of a man released from a heavy burden, 'I am a plain man, Mr.Fairford.'

  'A plain man?' said Maxwell, who entered the room at that moment, withthe letter in his hand,--'Provost, I never heard you make use of theword but when you had some sly turn of your own to work out.'

  The provost looked silly enough, and the Laird of Summertrees directeda keen and suspicious glance upon Alan Fairford, who sustained it withprofessional intrepidity.--There was a moment's pause.

  'I was trying,' said the provost, 'to dissuade our young friend from hiswildgoose expedition.'

  'And I,' said Fairford, 'am determined to go through with it. Trustingmyself to you, Mr. Maxwell, I conceive that I rely, as I before said, onthe word of a gentleman.'

  'I will warrant you,' said Maxwell, 'from all serious consequences--someinconveniences you must look to suffer.'

  'To these I shall be resigned,' said Fairford, 'and stand prepared torun my risk.'

  'Well then,' said Summertrees, 'you must go'--

  'I will leave you to yourselves, gentlemen,' said the provost, rising;'when you have done with your crack, you will find me at my wife'stea-table.'

  'And a more accomplished old woman never drank catlap,' said Maxwell,as he shut the door; 'the last word has him, speak it who will--and yetbecause he is a whillywhaw body, and has a plausible tongue of his own,and is well enough connected, and especially because nobody could everfind out whether he is Whig or Tory, this is the third time theyhave made him provost!--But to the matter in hand. This letter, Mr.Fairford,' putting a sealed one into his hand, 'is addressed, youobserve, to Mr. H--of B--, and contains your credentials for thatgentlemen, who is also known by his family name of Redgauntlet, butless frequently addressed by it, because it is mentioned somethinginvidiously in a certain Act of Parliament. I have little doubt he willassure you of your friend's safety, and in a short time place him atfreedom--that is, supposing him under present restraint. But the pointis, to discover where he is--and, before you are made acquainted withthis necessary part of the business, you must give me your assurance ofhonour that you will acquaint no one, either by word or letter, with theexpedition which you now propose to yourself.'

  'How, sir?' answered Alan; 'can you expect that I will not take theprecaution of informing some person of the route I am about to take,that in case of accident it may be known where I am, and with whatpurpose I have gone thither?'

  'And can you expect,' answered Maxwell, in the same tone, 'that I am toplace my friend's safety, not merely in your hands, but in those of anyperson you may choose to confide in, and who may use the knowledge tohis destruction? Na--na--I have pledged my word for your safety, and youmust give me yours to be private in the matter--giff-gaff, you know.'

  Alan Fairford could not help thinking that this obligation to secrecygave a new and suspicious colouring to the whole transaction; but,considering that his friend's release might depend upon his acceptingthe condition, he gave it in the terms proposed, and with the purpose ofabiding by it.

  'And now, sir,' he said, 'whither am I to proceed with this letter? IsMr. Herries at Brokenburn?'

  'He is not; I do not think he will come thither again until the businessof the stake-nets be hushed up, nor would I advise him to do so--theQuakers, with all their demureness, can bear malice as long as otherfolk; and though I have not the prudence of Mr. Provost, who refuses token where his friends are concealed during adversity, lest, perchance,he should be asked to contribute to their relief, yet I do not think itnecessary
or prudent to inquire into Redgauntlet's wanderings, poor man,but wish to remain at perfect freedom to answer, if asked at, that Iken nothing of the matter. You must, then, go to old Tom Trumbull's atAnnan,--Tam Turnpenny, as they call him,--and he is sure either to knowwhere Redgauntlet is himself, or to find some one who can give a shrewdguess. But you must attend that old Turnpenny will answer no question onsuch a subject without you give him the passport, which at present youmust do, by asking him the age of the moon; if he answers, "Not lightenough to land a cargo," you are to answer, "Then plague on AberdeenAlmanacks," and upon that he will hold free intercourse with you.And now, I would advise you to lose no time, for the parole is oftenchanged--and take care of yourself among these moonlight lads, for lawsand lawyers do not stand very high in their favour.'

  'I will set out this instant,' said the young barrister; 'I will but bidthe provost and Mrs. Crosbie farewell, and then get on horseback so soonas the ostler of the George Inn can saddle him;--as for the smugglers,I am neither gauger nor supervisor, and, like the man who met the devil,if they have nothing to say to me, I have nothing to say to them.'

  'You are a mettled young man,' said Summertrees, evidently withincreasing goodwill, on observing an alertness and contempt ofdanger, which perhaps he did not expect from Alan's appearance andprofession,--'a very mettled young fellow indeed! and it is almost apity'--Here he stopped abort.

  'What is a pity?' said Fairford.

  'It is almost a pity that I cannot go with you myself, or at least senda trusty guide.'

  They walked together to the bedchamber of Mrs. Crosbie, for it was inthat asylum that the ladies of the period dispensed their tea, when theparlour was occupied by the punch-bowl.

  'You have been good bairns to-night, gentlemen,' said Mrs. Crosbie; 'Iam afraid, Summertrees, that the provost has given you a bad browst; youare not used to quit the lee-side of the punch-bowl in such a hurry. Isay nothing to you, Mr. Fairford, for you are too young a man yet forstoup and bicker; but I hope you will not tell the Edinburgh fine folkthat the provost has scrimped you of your cogie, as the sang says?'

  'I am much obliged for the provost's kindness, and yours, madam,'replied Alan; 'but the truth is, I have still a long ride before me thisevening and the sooner I am on horse-back the better.'

  'This evening?' said the provost, anxiously; 'had you not better takedaylight with you to-morrow morning?'

  'Mr. Fairford will ride as well in the cool of the evening,' saidSummertrees, taking the word out of Alan's mouth.

  The provost said no more, nor did his wife ask any questions, nortestify any surprise at the suddenness of their guest's departure.

  Having drunk tea, Alan Fairford took leave with the usual ceremony.The Laird of Summertrees seemed studious to prevent any furthercommunication between him and the provost, and remained lounging onthe landing-place of the stair while they made their adieus--heard theprovost ask if Alan proposed a speedy return, and the latter reply thathis stay was uncertain, and witnessed the parting shake of the hand,which, with a pressure more warm than usual, and a tremulous, 'God blessand prosper you!' Mr. Crosbie bestowed on his young friend. Maxwell evenstrolled with Fairford as far as the George, although resisting allhis attempts at further inquiry into the affairs of Redgauntlet, andreferring him to Tom Trumbull, alias Turnpenny, for the particularswhich he might find it necessary to inquire into.

  At length Alan's hack was produced--an animal long in neck, and highin bone, accoutred with a pair of saddle-bags containing the rider'stravelling wardrobe. Proudly surmounting his small stock of necessaries,and no way ashamed of a mode of travelling which a modern Mr.Silvertongue would consider as the last of degradations, Alan Fairfordtook leave of the old Jacobite, Pate-in-Peril, and set forward on theroad to the loyal burgh of Annan. His reflections during his ride werenone of the most pleasant. He could not disguise from himself that hewas venturing rather too rashly into the power of outlawed and desperatepersons; for with such only, a man in the situation of Redgauntlet couldbe supposed to associate. There were other grounds for apprehension,Several marks of intelligence betwixt Mrs. Crosbie and the Laird ofSummertrees had not escaped Alan's acute observation; and it was plainthat the provost's inclinations towards him, which he believed to besincere and good, were not firm enough to withstand the influence ofthis league between his wife and friend. The provost's adieus, likeMacbeth's amen, had stuck in his throat, and seemed to intimate that heapprehended more than he dared give utterance to.

  Laying all these matters together, Alan thought, with no little anxietyon the celebrated lines of Shakespeare,

  -- A drop, That in the ocean seeks another drop, &c.

  But pertinacity was a strong feature in the young lawyer's character.He was, and always had been, totally unlike the 'horse hot at hand,' whotires before noon through his own over eager exertions in the beginningof the day. On the contrary, his first efforts seemed frequentlyinadequate to accomplishing his purpose, whatever that for the timemight be; and it was only as the difficulties of the task increased,that his mind seemed to acquire the energy necessary to combat andsubdue them. If, therefore, he went anxiously forward upon his uncertainand perilous expedition, the reader must acquit him of all idea, evenin a passing thought, of the possibility of abandoning his search, andresigning Darsie Latimer to his destiny.

  A couple of hours' riding brought him to the little town of Annan,situated on the shores of the Solway, between eight and nine o'clock.The sun had set, but the day was not yet ended; and when he had alightedand seen his horse properly cared for at the principal inn of the place,he was readily directed to Mr. Maxwell's friend, old Tom Trumbull, withwhom everybody seemed well acquainted. He endeavoured to fish out fromthe lad that acted as a guide, something of this man's situation andprofession; but the general expressions of 'a very decent man'--'a veryhonest body'--'weel to pass in the world,' and such like, were all thatcould be extracted from him; and while Fairford was following up theinvestigation with closer interrogatories, the lad put an end to them byknocking at the door of Mr. Trumbull, whose decent dwelling was a littledistance from the town, and considerably nearer to the sea. It was oneof a little row of houses running down to the waterside, and havinggardens and other accommodations behind. There was heard withinthe uplifting of a Scottish psalm; and the boy saying, 'They are atexercise, sir,' gave intimation they might not be admitted till prayerswere over.

  When, however, Fairford repeated the summons with the end of his whip,the singing ceased, and Mr. Trumbull himself, with his psalm-book in hishand, kept open by the insertion of his forefinger between the leaves,came to demand the meaning of this unseasonable interruption.

  Nothing could be more different than his whole appearance seemed to befrom the confidant of a desperate man, and the associate of outlaws intheir unlawful enterprises. He was a tall, thin, bony figure, with whitehair combed straight down on each side of his face, and an iron-grey hueof complexion; where the lines, or rather, as Quin said of Macklin, thecordage, of his countenance were so sternly adapted to a devotional andeven ascetic expression, that they left no room for any indication ofreckless daring or sly dissimulation. In short, Trumbull appeared aperfect specimen of the rigid old Covenanter, who said only what hethought right, acted on no other principle but that of duty, and, if hecommitted errors, did so under the full impression that he was servingGod rather than man.

  'Do you want me, sir?' he said to Fairford, whose guide had slunk tothe rear, as if to escape the rebuke of the severe old man,--'We wereengaged, and it is the Saturday night.'

  Alan Fairford's preconceptions were so much deranged by this man'sappearance and manner, that he stood for a moment bewildered, and wouldas soon have thought of giving a cant password to a clergyman descendingfrom the pulpit, as to the respectable father of a family justinterrupted in his prayers for and with the objects of his care. Hastilyconcluding Mr. Maxwell had passed some idle jest on him, or rather thathe had mistaken the person to whom he
was directed, he asked if he spoketo Mr. Trumbull.

  'To Thomas Trumbull,' answered the old man--'What may be your business,sir?' And he glanced his eye to the book he held in his hand, with asigh like that of a saint desirous of dissolution.

  'Do you know Mr. Maxwell of Summertrees?' said Fairford.

  'I have heard of such a gentleman in the country-side, but have noacquaintance with him,' answered Mr. Trumbull; 'he is, as I have heard,a Papist; for the whore that sitteth on the seven hills ceaseth not yetto pour forth the cup of her abomination on these parts.'

  'Yet he directed me hither, my good friend,' said Alan. 'Is thereanother of your name in this town of Annan?'

  'None,' replied Mr. Trumbull, 'since my worthy father was removed; hewas indeed a shining light.--I wish you good even, sir.'

  'Stay one single instant,' said Fairford; 'this is a matter of life anddeath.'

  'Not more than the casting the burden of our sins where they should belaid,' said Thomas Trumbull, about to shut the door in the inquirer'sface.

  'Do you know,' said Alan Fairford, 'the Laird of Redgauntlet?'

  'Now Heaven defend me from treason and rebellion!' exclaimed Trumbull.'Young gentleman, you are importunate. I live here among my own people,and do not consort with Jacobites and mass-mongers.'

  He seemed about to shut the door, but did NOT shut it, a circumstancewhich did not escape Alan's notice.

  'Mr. Redgauntlet is sometimes,' he said, 'called Herries of Birrenswork;perhaps you may know him under that name.'

  'Friend, you are uncivil,' answered Mr. Trumbull; 'honest men haveenough to do to keep one name undefiled. I ken nothing about those whohave two. Good even to you, friend.'

  He was now about to slam the door in his visitor's face withoutfurther ceremony, when Alan, who had observed symptoms that the nameof Redgauntlet did not seem altogether so indifferent to him as hepretended, arrested his purpose by saying, in a low voice, 'At least youcan tell me what age the moon is?'

  The old man started, as if from a trance, and before answering, surveyedthe querist with a keen penetrating glance, which seemed to say, 'Areyou really in possession of this key to my confidence, or do you speakfrom mere accident?'

  To this keen look of scrutiny, Fairford replied by a smile ofintelligence.

  The iron muscles of the old man's face did not, however, relax, as hedropped, in a careless manner, the countersign, 'Not light enough toland a cargo.'

  'Then plague of all Aberdeen Almanacks!'

  'And plague of all fools that waste time,' said Thomas Trumbull, 'Couldyou not have said as much at first? And standing wasting time, andencouraging; lookers-on, in the open street too? Come in by--in by.'

  He drew his visitor into the dark entrance of the house, and shutthe door carefully; then putting his head into an apartment which themurmurs within announced to be filled with the family, he said aloud, 'Awork of necessity and mercy--Malachi, take the book--You will sing sixdouble verses of the hundred and nineteen-and you may lecture out of theLamentations. And, Malachi,'--this he said in an undertone,--'see yougive them a a creed of doctrine that will last them till I come back; orelse these inconsiderate lads will be out of the house, and away to thepublics, wasting their precious time, and, it may be, putting themselvesin the way of missing the morning tide.'

  An inarticulate answer from within intimated Malachi's acquiescence inthe commands imposed; and, Mr. Trumbull, shutting the door, mutteredsomething about fast bind, fast find, turned the key, and put it intohis pocket; and then bidding his visitor have a care of his steps, andmake no noise, he led him through the house, and out at a back-door,into a little garden. Here a plaited alley conducted them, withoutthe possibility of their being seen by any neighbour, to a door in thegarden-wall, which being opened, proved to be a private entrance intoa three-stalled stable; in one of which was a horse, that whinnied ontheir entrance. 'Hush, hush!' cried the old man, and presently secondedhis exhortations to silence by throwing a handful of corn into themanger, and the horse soon converted his acknowledgement of theirpresence into the usual sound of munching and grinding his provender.

  As the light was now failing fast, the old man, with much more alertnessthan might have been expected from the rigidity of his figure, closedthe window-shutters in an instant, produced phosphorus and matches,and lighted a stable-lantern, which he placed on the corn-bin, and thenaddressed Fairford. 'We are private here, young man; and as some timehas been wasted already, you will be so kind as to tell me what is yourerrand. Is it about the way of business, or the other job?'

  'My business with you, Mr. Trumbull, is to request you will find me themeans of delivering this letter, from Mr. Maxwell of Summertrees to theLaird of Redgauntlet.'

  'Humph--fashious job! Pate Maxwell will still be the auld man--alwaysPate-in-Peril--Craig-in-Peril, for what I know. Let me see the letterfrom him.'

  He examined it with much care, turning it up and down, and looking atthe seal very attentively. 'All's right, I see; it has the private markfor haste and speed. I bless my Maker that I am no great man, or greatman's fellow; and so I think no more of these passages than just to helpthem forward in the way of business. You are an utter stranger in theseparts, I warrant?'

  Fairford answered in the affirmative.

  'Aye--I never saw them make a wiser choice--I must call some one todirect you what to do--Stay, we must go to him, I believe. You are wellrecommended to me, friend, and doubtless trusty; otherwise you maysee more than I would like to show, or am in the use of showing in thecommon line of business.'

  Saying this, he placed his lantern on the ground, beside the post of oneof the empty stalls, drew up a small spring bolt which secured it tothe floor, and then forcing the post to one side, discovered a smalltrap-door. 'Follow me,' he said, and dived into the subterranean descentto which this secret aperture gave access.

  Fairford plunged after him, not without apprehensions of more kinds thanone, but still resolved to prosecute the adventure.

  The descent, which was not above six feet, led to a very narrow passage,which seemed to have been constructed for the precise purpose ofexcluding every one who chanced to be an inch more in girth than was hisconductor. A small vaulted room, of about eight feet square, receivedthem at the end of this lane. Here Mr. Trumbull left Fairford alone, andreturned for an instant, as he said, to shut his concealed trap-door.

  Fairford liked not his departure, as it left him in utter darkness;besides that his breathing was much affected by a strong and stiflingsmell of spirits, and other articles of a savour more powerful thanagreeable to the lungs. He was very glad, therefore, when he heard thereturning steps of Mr. Trumbull, who, when once more by his side, openeda strong though narrow door in the wall, and conveyed Fairford intoan immense magazine of spirit-casks, and other articles of contrabandtrade.

  There was a small, light at the end of this range of well-stockedsubterranean vaults, which, upon a low whistle, began to flicker andmove towards them. An undefined figure, holding a dark lantern, with thelight averted, approached them, whom Mr. Trumbull thus addressed:--'Whywere you not at worship, Job; and this Saturday at e'en?'

  'Swanston was loading the JENNY, sir; and I stayed to serve out thearticle.'

  'True--a work of necessity, and in the way of business. Does the JUMPINGJENNY sail this tide?'

  'Aye, aye, sir; she sails for'--

  'I did not ask you WHERE she sailed for, Job,' said the old gentleman,interrupting him. 'I thank my Maker, I know nothing of their incomingsor outgoings. I sell my article fairly and in the ordinary way ofbusiness; and I wash my hands of everything else. But what I wished toknow is, whether the gentleman called the Laird of the Solway Lakes ison the other side of the Border even now?'

  'Aye, aye,' said Job, 'the laird is something in my own line, youknow--a little contraband or so, There is a statute for him--But nomatter; he took the sands after the splore at the Quaker's fish-trapsyonder; for he has a leal heart, the laird, and is always true to thecountry-side.
But avast--is all snug here?'

  So saying, he suddenly turned on Alan Fairford the light side of thelantern he carried, who, by the transient gleam which it threw inpassing on the man who bore it, saw a huge figure, upwards of sixfeet high, with a rough hairy cap on his head, and a set of featurescorresponding to his bulky frame. He thought also he observed pistols athis belt.

  'I will answer for this gentleman,' said Mr. Trumbull; 'he must bebrought to speech of the laird.'

  'That will be kittle steering,' said the subordinate personage; 'for Iunderstood that the laird and his folk were no sooner on the otherside than the land-sharks were on them, and some mounted lobsters fromCarlisle; and so they were obliged to split and squander. There are newbrooms out to sweep the country of them, they say; for the brush was ahard one; and they say there was a lad drowned;--he was not one of thelaird's gang, so there was the less matter.'

  'Peace! prithee, peace, Job Rutledge,' said honest, pacific Mr.Trumbull. 'I wish thou couldst remember, man, that I desire to knownothing of your roars and splores, your brooms and brushes. I dwell hereamong my own people; and I sell my commodity to him who comes in theway of business; and so wash my hands of all consequences, as becomesa quiet subject and an honest man. I never take payment, save in readymoney.'

  'Aye, aye,' muttered he with the lantern, 'your worship, Mr. Trumbull,understands that in the way of business.'

  'Well, I hope you will one day know, Job,' answered Mr. Trumbull,--'thecomfort of a conscience void of offence, and that fears neither gaugernor collector, neither excise nor customs. The business is to pass thisgentleman to Cumberland upon earnest business, and to procure him speechwith the Laird of the Solway Lakes--I suppose that can be done? Now Ithink Nanty Ewart, if he sails with the brig this morning tide, is theman to set him forward.'

  'Aye, aye, truly is he,' said Job; 'never man knew the Border, dale andfell, pasture and ploughland, better than Nanty; and he can always bringhim to the laird, too, if you are sure the gentleman's right. But indeedthat's his own look-out; for were he the best man in Scotland, and thechairman of the d--d Board to boot, and had fifty men at his back, hewere as well not visit the laird for anything but good. As for Nanty, heis word and blow, a d--d deal fiercer than Cristie Nixon that they keepsuch a din about. I have seen them both tried, by'--

  Fairford now found himself called upon to say something; yet hisfeelings, upon finding himself thus completely in the power of a cantinghypocrite, and of his retainer, who had so much the air of a determinedruffian, joined to the strong and abominable fume which they snuffed upwith indifference, while it almost deprived him of respiration, combinedto render utterance difficult. He stated, however, that he had no evilintentions towards the laird, as they called him, but was only thebearer of a letter to him on particular business, from Mr. Maxwell ofSummertrees.

  'Aye, aye,' said Job, 'that may be well enough; and if Mr. Trumbull issatisfied that the service is right, why, we will give you a cast inthe JUMPING JENNY this tide, and Nanty Ewart will put you on a way offinding the laird, I warrant you.'

  'I may for the present return, I presume, to the inn where I left myhorse?' said Fairford.

  'With pardon,' replied Mr. Trumbull, 'you have been ower far ben withus for that; but Job will take you to a place where you may sleeprough till he calls you. I will bring you what little baggage you canneed--for those who go on such errands must not be dainty. I will myselfsee after your horse, for a merciful man is merciful to his beast--amatter too often forgotten in our way of business.'

  'Why, Master Trumbull,' replied Job, 'you know that when we are chased,it's no time to shorten sail, and so the boys do ride whip and spur.'He stopped in his speech, observing the old man had vanished throughthe door by which he had entered--'That's always the way with oldTurnpenny,' he said to Fairford; 'he cares for nothing of the trade butthe profit--now, d--me, if I don't think the fun of it is better worthwhile. But come along, my fine chap; I must stow you away in safetyuntil it is time to go aboard.'