hiding priests and Jacobites, the Disarming Act, the dress, and
many other curiosities of the time and place. He seemed moderate;
blaming Parliament in several points, and especially because they had
framed the Act more severely against those who wore the dress than
against those who carried weapons.

This moderation put it in my mind to question him of the Red Fox and the
Appin tenants; questions which, I thought, would seem natural enough in
the mouth of one travelling to that country.

He said it was a bad business. "It's wonderful," said he, "where the
tenants find the money, for their life is mere starvation. (Ye don't
carry such a thing as snuff, do ye, Mr. Balfour? No. Well, I'm better
wanting it.) But these tenants (as I was saying) are doubtless partly
driven to it. James Stewart in Duror (that's him they call James of the
Glens) is half-brother to Ardshiel, the captain of the clan; and he is a
man much looked up to, and drives very hard. And then there's one they
call Alan Breck----"

"Ah!" cried I, "what of him?"

"What of the wind that bloweth where it listeth?" said Henderland. "He's
here and awa'; here to-day and gone to-morrow: a fair heather-cat. He
might be glowering at the two of us out of yon whin-bush, and I wouldna
wonder! Ye'll no' carry such a thing as snuff, will ye?"

I told him no, and that he had asked the same thing more than once.

"It's highly possible," said he, sighing. "But it seems strange ye
shouldna carry it. However, as I was saying, this Alan Breck is a bold,
desperate customer, and well kennt to be James's right hand. His life is
forfeit already; he would boggle at naething; and maybe, if a
tenant-body was to hang back he would get a dirk in his wame."

"You make a poor story of it all, Mr. Henderland," said I. "If it is all
fear upon both sides, I care to hear no more of it."

"Na," said Mr. Henderland, "but there's love too, and self-denial that
should put the like of you and me to shame. There's something fine
about it; no' perhaps Christian, but humanly fine. Even Alan Breck, by
all that I hear, is a chield to be respected. There's many a lying
sneck-draw sits close in kirk in our own part of the country, and stands
well in the world's eye, and maybe is a far worse man, Mr. Balfour, than
yon misguided shedder of man's blood. Ay, ay, we might take a lesson by
them.--Ye'll perhaps think I've been too long in the Hielands?" he
added, smiling to me.

I told him not at al