ht," and for three years I avoided identification.

CHAPTER X

A CHAT WITH "DUNCAN DHEW"

It was one beautiful summer afternoon, while strolling along the pleasant
country lanes, which looked charming with their avenues of stately oak
trees, whose branches were tenanted by scores of squirrels, that I came
upon an elderly gentleman who was sitting smoking. I bade him "Good-day,"
and asked him for a match; which he gave me and invited me to sit down
beside him and have a smoke and a chat. In the course of our conversation
I discovered that my friend was no common man. When, in reply to his
enquiry, I told him that the headquarters of my regiment were at
Edinburgh, he said, "and what a disgrace some of the men have brought
upon your regiment." Every one of the guards at Holyrood Palace had been
found 'beastly' drunk, excepting one man, who was keeping sentry at the
magazine on the top of Arthur's Seat. The circumstance was especially
discreditable as His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales was staying at
Holyrood. "I understand (continued the speaker) that they broke into the
wine cellar, and stole some fifty bottles of port and champagne. Most of
that they drunk, until when found they were 'blind palatic'." "Yes, sir"
said I, "I believe it is all true. All the men are put back for
court-martial except the man at the magazine, who held his post all night
without being relieved." "Serves the rascals right," retorted the old
gentleman. "In my time of soldiering every man jack of them would have
been shot--the sergeant as well." "Then, sir," said I, "you have been in
the Army?" "Yes," he replied, "I have served a little time, and took part
in the Peninsular War." But beyond this my unknown friend would tell me
nothing about his military career.

A VISIT TO THE "BIG HALL"

We next fell to talking about the big hall which lay in front of us. My
friend asked me if I should like to look over it, and on my saying that I
should, he directed me on the way to the mansion, telling me to go a
little further up the lane, then turn in at the wicket gate and follow
the footpath across the lawn. "Then," said he, "you'll come to the
kitchen door. Knock, and ask for a horn of beer." "But whose word shall I
give?" I asked, "Tell them an old gentleman called Duncan Dhew, in black
knee breeches and leggings has sent you, and it will be all right. And
then (added he) if you wish it you can go further into the park by
crossing