''
``Enlisted! Were you mad or drunk?---You
must buy yourself off---I can lend you twenty notes,
and twenty to that, if the drove sell.''
``I thank you---thank ye, Hughie; but I go with
good will the gate that I am going,---so the dirk---
the dirk!''
``There it is for you then, since less wunna
serve. But think on what I was saying.---Waes
me, it will be sair news in the braes of Balquidder,
that Robin Oig M`Combich should have run an ill
gate, and ta'en on.''
``Ill news in Balquidder, indeed!'' echoed poor
Robin: ``but Cot speed you, Hughie, and send you
good marcats. Ye winna meet with Robin Oig
again, either at tryste or fair.''
So saying, he shook hastily the hand of his acquaintance,
and set out in the direction from which
he had advanced, with the spirit of his former
pace.
``There is something wrang with the lad,'' muttered
the Morrison to himself; ``but we will maybe
see better into it the morn's morning.''
But long ere the morning dawned, the catastrophe
of our tale had taken place. It was two
hours after the affray had happened, and it was
totally forgotten by almost every one, when Robin
Oig returned to Heskett's inn. The place was
filled at once by various sorts of men, and with
noises corresponding to their character.
Pages:
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381