to the laird." Himself commented on the
difference, and bid me be more of my age, and make friends with my young
comrades.

I told him I was slow of making friends.

"I will take the word back," said he. "But there is such a thing as
_Fair gude-e'en and fair gude-day_, Mr. David. These are the same young
men with whom you are to pass your days and get through life: your
backwardness has a look of arrogance; and unless you can assume a little
more lightness of manner, I fear you will meet difficulties in the
path."

"It will be an ill job to make a silk purse of a sow's ear," said I.

On the morning of October 1st I was awakened by the clattering in of an
express; and, getting to my window almost before he had dismounted, I
saw the messenger had ridden hard. Somewhile after I was called to
Prestongrange, where he was sitting in his bedgown and nightcap, with
his letters round him.

"Mr. David," said he, "I have a piece of news for you. It concerns some
friends of yours, of whom I sometimes think you are a little ashamed,
for you have never referred to their existence."

I suppose I blushed.

"I see you understand, since you make the answering signal," said he.
"And I must compliment you on your excellent taste in beauty. But do you
know, Mr. David, this seems to me a very enterprising lass? She crops up
from every side. The Government of Scotland appears unable to proceed
for Mistress Katrine Drummond, which was somewhat the case (no great
while back) with a certain Mr. David Balfour. Should not these make a
good match? Her first intromission in politics--but I must not tell you
that story, the authorities have decided you are to hear it otherwise
and from a livelier narrator. This new example is more serious, however;
and I am afraid I must alarm you with the intelligence that she is now
in prison."

I cried out.

"Yes," said he, "the little lady is in prison. But I would not have you
to despair. Unless you (with your friends and memorials) shall procure
my downfall, she is to suffer nothing."

"But what has she done? What is her offence?" I cried.

"It might be almost construed a high treason," he returned, "for she has
broke the King's Castle of Edinburgh."

"The lady is much my friend," I said. "I know you would not mock me if
the thing were serious."

"And yet it is serious in a sense," said he; "for this rogue of a
Katrine--or Cateran, as we may call her--has set adrift again upon the
world that