to any other drover in that district. He might have increased his
business to any extent had he condescended to manage it by deputy; but,
except a lad or two, sister's sons of his own, Robin rejected the idea
of assistance, conscious, perhaps, how much his reputation depended
upon his attending in person to the practical discharge of his duty in
every instance. He remained, therefore, contented with the highest
premium given to persons of his description, and comforted himself with
the hopes that a few journeys to England might enable him to conduct
business on his own account in a manner becoming his birth. For Robin
Oig's father, Lachlan M'Combich, or "son of my friend" (his actual
clan-surname being M'Gregor), had been so called by the celebrated Rob
Roy, because of the particular friendship which had subsisted between
the grandsire of Robin and that renowned cateran. Some people even say
that Robin Oig derived his Christian name from one as renowned in the
wilds of Loch Lomond as ever was his namesake, Robin Hood, in the
precincts of merry Sherwood. "Of such ancestry," as James Boswell
says, "who would not be proud?" Robin Oig was proud accordingly; but
his frequent visits to England and to the Lowlands had given him tact
enough to know that pretensions which still gave him a little right to
distinction in his own lonely glen might be both obnoxious and
ridiculous if preferred elsewhere. The pride of birth, therefore, was
like the miser's treasure, the secret subject of his contemplation, but
never exhibited to strangers as a subject of boasting.

Many were the words of gratulation and good-luck which were bestowed on
Robin Oig. The judges commended his drove, especially Robin's own
property, which were the best of them. Some thrust out their
snuff-mulls for the parting pinch; others tendered the doch-an-darroch,
or parting-cup. All cried: "Good-luck travel out with you and come
home with you. Give you luck in the Saxon market--brave notes in the
leabhar-dhu (black pocket-book) and plenty of English fold in the
sporran" (pouch of goat-skin).

The bonny lasses made their adieus more modestly, and more than one, it
was said, would have given her best brooch to be certain that it was
upon her that his eye last rested as he turned towards the road.

Robin Oig had just given the preliminary "Hoo--hoo!" to urge forward
the loiterers of the drove, when there was a cry behind him.

"Stay, Robin--bide a blink.