“Right, Mr. Osbaldistone—right,—but I maun speak to this gabbling skyte too, for bairns and fules speak at the Cross what they hear at the ingle-side.—D’ye hear, you, Andrew—What’s your name—Fairservice!”

Andrew, who at the last rebuff had fallen a good way behind, did not choose to acknowledge the summons.

“Andrew, ye scoundrel!” repeated Mr. Jarvie; “here, sir! here!”

“Here is for the dog,” said Andrew, coming up sulkily.

“I’ll gie you dog’s wages, ye rascal, if ye dinna attend to what I say t’ye—We are gaun into the Hielands a bit——”

“I judged as muckle,” said Andrew.

“Haud your peace, ye knave, and hear what I have to say till ye—We are gaun a bit into the Hielands——”

“Ye tauld me sae already,” replied the incorrigible Andrew.

“I’ll break your head,” said the Bailie, rising in wrath, “if ye dinna haud your tongue.”

“A hadden tongue,” replied Andrew, “makes a slabbered mouth.”

It was now necessary I should interfere, which I did by commanding Andrew, with an authoritative tone, to be silent at his peril.

“I am silent,” said Andrew. “I’se do a’ your lawfu’ bidding without a nay-say.—My puir mither used aye to tell me,

‘Be it better, be it worse,

Be ruled by him that has the purse.’

Sae ye may e’en speak as lang as ye like, baith the tane and the tither o’ you, for Andrew.”

Mr. Jarvie took the advantage of his stopping after quoting the above proverb, to give him the requisite instructions.

“Now, sir, it’s as muckle as your life’s worth—that wad be dear o’ little siller, to be sure—but it is as muckle as a’ our lives are worth, if ye dinna mind what I say to ye. In this public whar we are gaun to, and whar it is like we may hae to stay a’ night, men o’ a’ clans and kindred—Hieland and Lawland—tak up their quarters—And whiles there are mair drawn dirks than open Bibles amang them, when the usquebaugh gets uppermost. See ye neither meddle nor mak, nor gie nae offence wi’ that clavering tongue o’ yours, but keep a calm sough, and let ilka cock fight his ain battle.”

“Muckle needs to tell me that,” said Andrew contemptuously, “as if I had never seen a Hielandman before, and kend nae how to manage them. Nae man alive can cuitle up Donald better than mysell—I hae bought wi’ them, sauld wi’ them, eaten wi’ them, drucken wi’ them——”

“Did ye ever fight wi’ them?” said Mr. Jarvie.

“Na, na,” answered Andrew, “I took care o’ that; it wad ill hae set me, that am an artist and half a scholar to my trade, to be fighting amang a wheen kilted loons that dinna ken the name o’ a single herb or flower in braid Scots, let abee in the Latin tongue.”

“Then,” said Mr. Jarvie, “as ye wad keep either your tongue in your mouth, or your lugs in your head (and ye might miss them, for as saucy members as they are), I charge ye to say nae word, gude or bad, that ye can weel get by, to onybody that may be in the Clachan. And ye’ll specially understand that ye’re no to be bleezing and blasting about your master’s name or mine, or saying that this is Mr. Bailie Nicol Jarvie o’ the Saut-Market, son o’ the worthy Deacon Nicol Jarvie, that a’ body has heard