"
"May be the Highland tyke is right, cummer, (said one o' the red coats)
and the fallow is jumpit thro' the bole, but harkye maister gudeman, an
ye hae ony mair o' your barns-breaking wi us, ye'se get a sark fu' o'
sair banes, that's a'."
"Hear till him, hear till him, Janet," said I, as the twa southron
chiels gaed thro' the hole, trailing their bagganets alang wi' 'em;
"winna the puir tykes hae an unco saft couch o' it, think ye, luckie, O
'tis a gude sight for sair e'en to see 'em foundering and powtering i'
the latch o' the bit bog aneath."
"Nane o' your clashes e'enow, gudemon," said she, "but let the callant
abune gang his gate while he may."
"Ye're aye cute, dame," I cried, thrawing the bit gy abune, and in a
gliffing, doun jumpit the chiel, and a braw chiel he was sure enough,
siccan my auld e'en sall ne'er see again, wi' his brent brow and buirdly
bowk wrappit in a tartan plaid, wi' a Highland kilt.
"May the gude God o' heaven sain you," he said "and ferd you for aye,
for the braw deed ye hae dreed the day; tak' this wee ring, gudemon, and
tak' ye this ane, gudewife, and when ye look on this and on that, I rede
ye render up are prayer to him abune for the weal o' Charles Edward,
your unfortunate prince.
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