ng through the window, he saw by the light of the fire in the
common room four men in red coats sitting at table, drinking. He felt
jaded and depressed, needing distraction from the gray chill day and
the laird's dying. Curiosity faintly stretched herself. He turned into
the inn, took a seat by a corner table, and called for a bottle of
wine. In addition to the soldiers the room had a handful of
others--farmers, a lawyer's clerk from Stirling, a petty officer of
the excise, and two or three village nondescripts. From this group
there now disengaged himself Robin Greenlaw, who came across to
Strickland's table.

"Sit down and have a glass with me," said the latter. "Who are they?"

"A recruiting party," answered Greenlaw, accepting the invitation. "I
like to hear their talk! I'll listen, drinking your wine and thanking
you, sir! and riding home I'll make a song about them."

He sat with his arm over the chair-back, his right hand now lifting
and now lowering the wine-glass. He had a look of strength and inner
pleasure that rested and refreshed.

"What are they saying now?" asked Strickland.

The soldiers made the center of attention. More or less all in the
room harkened to their talk, disconnected, obscure, idle, and
boisterous as much of it was. The revenue officer, by virtue of being
also the king's paid man, had claimed comrade's right and was drinking
with them and putting questions. He was so obliging as to ask these in
a round tone of voice and to repeat on the same note the information
gathered.

"Recruits for the King's army, fighting King Louis on the river
Main.--Where's that?--It's in Germany. Our King and the Hanoverians
and the King of Prussia and the Queen of Austria are fighting the King
of France.--Aye, of course ye know that, neighbors, being intelligent
Scots folk, but recapitulation is na out of order!"

"Ask them what's thought of the Hanoverians." It was the lawyer's
clerk's question. Thereupon rose some noisy difference of opinion
among the drinking redcoats. The excise man finally reported. "They're
na English, nor Scots, nor even Irish. But they're liked weel enough!
They're good fighters. Oh, aye, when ye march and fight alangside
them, they're good enough! They're his Majesty's cousins. God save
King George!"

The recruiting party banged with tankards upon the table. One of the
number put a question of his own. He had a look half pedant, half
bully, and he spoke with a one-quarter-dru