cried Nelly, dropping in her astonishment a platter
of finnans upon the floor--"Lord save us a', and keep us frae the sin o'
bluid-shed! Dear-a-me, Maister George, can that really be you! Hae ye
turned offisher, and are ye gaun oot to fecht!"

"To be sure, Nelly. I have joined the yeomanry, and we shall turn out
next week. How do you like the uniform?"

"Dinna speak to me o' unicorns! I'm auld enough to mind the days o' that
bluidy murderin' villain Bonyparty, wha was loot loose upon huz, as a
scourge and a tribulation for the backslidings o' a sinfu' land: and,
wae's me! mony a mither that parted frae her son, maybe as bonny, or a
hantle bonnier than yoursel', had sair een, and a broken heart, when she
heard that her laddie was streekit cauld and stiff on the weary field o'
Waterloo! Na--for gudeness sake, dinna draw yer swurd or I'll swarff! O,
pit it aff--pit it aff, Maister George--There's a dear bairn, bide at
hame, and dinna gang ye a sodgerin'! Think o' the mither that lo'es ye,
forbye yer twa aunties. Wad ye bring doun their hairs--I canna ca' them
a' grey, for Miss Kirsty's is as red as a lobster--in sorrow to the
grave?"

"Why, you old fool, what are you thinking of? We are not going out to
fight--merely for exercise."

"Waur and waur! Can ye no tak' yer yexerceese at hame, or doun at the
Links wi' golf, or gang awa' to the fishin'? Wadna that be better than
stravagin' through the streets, wi' a lang swurd harlin' ahint ye, and
consortin' wi' deboshed dragoons, and drinkin' the haill nicht, and
rinnin' wud after the lasses? And if ye're no gaun out to fecht, what's
the use o' ye? Are ye gaun to turn anither Claverse, and burn and hang
puir folk like the wicked and bluid-thirsty troopers lang syne?
Yexerceese indeed! I wonder, Maister George, ye're no just ashamed o'
yoursel'!"

"Hold your tongue, you old fool, and bring the tea-pot."

"Fule! 'Deed I'm maybe just an auld fule to gang on clattering that
gate, for I never kent ye tak' gude advice sin' ye were a wean. Aweel!
He that will to Cupar maun to Cupar. Ye'se hae it a' yer ain way; but
maybe we'll see some day sune, when ye're carried hame on a shutter wi'
a broken leg, or a stab in the wame, or a bullet in the harns, whilk o'
us twa is the greater fule!"

"Confound that woman!" thought I, as I pensively buttered my roll. "What
with her Cameronian nonsense and her prophecies, she is enough to
disband a regiment."

And, to say the truth, her last