ceedingly ill voice and ear--

"As Mally Lee cam doun the street, her capuchin did flee,
She cuist a look ahint her to see her negligee.
And we're a' gaun east and wast, we're a' gaun ajee,
We're a' gaun east and wast courtin' Mally Lee."

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Conspicuous.

[2] Country.

[3] The Fairies.

CHAPTER II

THE HIGHLAND WRITER

Mr. Charles Stewart the Writer dwelt at the top of the longest stair
that ever mason set a hand to; fifteen flights of it, no less; and when
I had come to his door, and a clerk had opened it, and told me his
master was within, I had scarce breath enough to send my porter packing.

"Awa' east and wast wi' ye!" said I, took the moneybag out of his hands,
and followed the clerk in.

The outer room was an office with the clerk's chair at a table spread
with law-papers. In the inner chamber, which opened from it, a little
brisk man sat poring on a deed, from which he scarce raised his eyes
upon my entrance; indeed, he still kept his finger in the place, as
though prepared to show me out and fall again to his studies. This
pleased me little enough; and, what pleased me less, I thought the clerk
was in a good posture to overhear what should pass between us.

I asked if he was Mr. Charles Stewart the Writer.

"The same," says he; "and if the question is equally fair, who may you
be yourself?"

"You never heard tell of my name nor of me either," said I, "but I bring
you a token from a friend that you know well. That you know well," I
repeated, lowering my voice, "but maybe are not just so keen to hear
from at this present being. And the bits of business that I have to
propone to you are rather in the nature of being confidential. In short,
I would like to think we were quite private."

He rose without more words, casting down his paper like a man
ill-pleased, sent forth his clerk of an errand, and shut-to the
house-door behind him.

"Now, sir," said he, returning, "speak out your mind and fear nothing;
though before you begin," he cries out, "I tell you mine misgives me! I
tell you beforehand, ye're either a Stewart or a Stewart sent ye. A good
name it is, and one it would ill become my father's son to lightly. But
I begin to grue at the sound of it."

"My name is called Balfour," said I, "David Balfour of Shaws. As for him
that sent me, I will let his token speak." And I showed the silver
button.

"Put it in your pocket, sir!" cries he. "Ye need nam