where his friends are concealed during adversity, lest, perchance,
he should be asked to contribute to their relief, yet I do not think it
necessary or prudent to inquire into Redgauntlet's wanderings, poor man,
but wish to remain at perfect freedom to answer, if asked at, that I
ken nothing of the matter. You must, then, go to old Tom Trumbull's at
Annan,--Tam Turnpenny, as they call him,--and he is sure either to know
where Redgauntlet is himself, or to find some one who can give a shrewd
guess. But you must attend that old Turnpenny will answer no question on
such a subject without you give him the passport, which at present you
must do, by asking him the age of the moon; if he answers, "Not light
enough to land a cargo," you are to answer, "Then plague on Aberdeen
Almanacks," and upon that he will hold free intercourse with you.
And now, I would advise you to lose no time, for the parole is often
changed--and take care of yourself among these moonlight lads, for laws
and lawyers do not stand very high in their favour.'

'I will set out this instant,' said the young barrister; 'I will but bid
the provost and Mrs. Crosbie farewell, and then get on horseback so soon
as the ostler of the George Inn can saddle him;--as for the smugglers,
I am neither gauger nor supervisor, and, like the man who met the devil,
if they have nothing to say to me, I have nothing to say to them.'

'You are a mettled young man,' said Summertrees, evidently with
increasing goodwill, on observing an alertness and contempt of
danger, which perhaps he did not expect from Alan's appearance and
profession,--'a very mettled young fellow indeed! and it is almost a
pity'--Here he stopped abort.

'What is a pity?' said Fairford.

'It is almost a pity that I cannot go with you myself, or at least send
a trusty guide.'

They walked together to the bedchamber of Mrs. Crosbie, for it was in
that asylum that the ladies of the period dispensed their tea, when the
parlour was occupied by the punch-bowl.

'You have been good bairns to-night, gentlemen,' said Mrs. Crosbie; 'I
am afraid, Summertrees, that the provost has given you a bad browst; you
are not used to quit the lee-side of the punch-bowl in such a hurry. I
say nothing to you, Mr. Fairford, for you are too young a man yet for
stoup and bicker; but I hope you will not tell the Edinburgh fine folk
that the provost has scrimped you of your cogie, as the sang says?'

'I am much obliged for the prov