said the young drover, giving the scabbard of the weapon
to Hugh Morrison, "you Lowlanders care nothing for these freats. Keep
my dirk for me. I cannot give it you, because it was my father's; but
your drove follows ours, and I am content it should be in your
keeping, not in mine. Will this do, Muhme?"

"It must", said the old woman--"that is, if the Lowlander is mad
enough to carry the knife."

The strong westlandman laughed aloud.

"Good wife," said he, "I am Hugh Morrison from Glenae, come of the
Manly Morrisons of auld langsyne, that never took short weapon against
a man in their lives. And neither needed they; they had their
broadswords, and I have this bit supple (showing a formidable
cudgel)--for dirking ower the board, I leave that to John Highlandman.
Ye needna snort, none of you Highlanders, and you in especial, Robin.
I'll keep the bit knife, if you are feared for the auld spae-wife's
tale, and give it back to you whenever you want it."

Robin was not particularly pleased with some part of Hugh Morrison's
speech; but he had learned in his travels more patience than belonged
to his Highland constitution originally, and he accepted the service
of the descendant of the Manly Morrisons, without finding fault with
the rather depreciating manner in which it was offered.

"If he had not had his morning in his head, and been but a
Dumfries-shire hog into the boot, he would have spoken more like a
gentleman. But you cannot have more of a sow but a grumph. It's a
shame my father's knife should ever slash a haggis for the like of
him."

Thus saying, (but saying it in Gaelic,) Robin drove on his cattle, and
waved farewell to all behind him. He was in the greater haste, because
he expected to join at Falkirk a comrade and brother in profession,
with whom he proposed to travel in company.

Robin Oig's chosen friend was a young Englishman, Harry Wakefield by
name, well known at every northern market, and in his way as much
famed and honoured as our Highland driver of bullocks. He was nearly
six feet high, gallantly formed to keep the rounds at Smithfield, or
maintain the ring at a wrestling-match; and although he might have
been overmatched, perhaps, among the regular professors of the Fancy,
yet as a chance customer, he was able to give a bellyful to any
amateur of the pugilistic art. Doncaster races saw him in his glory,
betting his guinea, and generally successfully; nor was there a main
fought in Yorkshire, the