city. Scott gave the old
man what trifle he had in his pocket, and passed on his way. Two or
three times afterwards the same thing happened, and he had begun to
consider the Bluegown as one who had established a claim on his
bounty: when one day he fell in with him as he was walking with his
humble student. Observing some confusion in his companion's manner as
he saluted his pensioner, and bestowed the usual benefaction, he could
not help saying, after they had proceeded a few yards further, "Do you
know anything to the old man's discredit?" Upon which the youth burst
into tears, and cried, "Oh no, sir, God forbid!--but I am a poor
wretch to be ashamed to speak to him--he is my own father. He has
enough laid by to serve for his own old days, but he stands bleaching
his head in the wind, that he may get the means of paying for my
education." Compassionating the young man's situation, Scott soothed
his weakness, and kept his secret, but by no means broke off the
acquaintance. Some months had elapsed before he again met the
Bluegown--it was in a retired place, and the old man begged to speak a
word with him. "I find, sir," he said, "that you have been very kind
to my Willie. He had often spoke of it before I saw you together. Will
you pardon such a liberty, and give me the honor and pleasure of
seeing you under my poor roof? Tomorrow is Saturday; will you come at
two o'clock? Willie has not been very well, and it would do him meikle
good to see your face." His curiosity, besides better feelings, was
touched, and he accepted this strange invitation. The appointed hour
found him within sight of a sequestered little cottage, near St.
Leonard's--the hamlet where he has placed the residence of his David
Deans. His fellow-student, pale and emaciated from recent {p.158}
sickness, was seated on a stone bench by the door, looking out for his
coming, and introduced him into a not untidy cabin, where the old man,
divested of his professional garb, was directing the last vibrations
of a leg of mutton that hung by a hempen cord before the fire. The
mutton was excellent--so were the potatoes and whiskey; and Scott
returned home from an entertaining conversation, in which, besides
telling many queer stories of his own life--and he had seen service in
his youth--the old man more than once used an expression, which was
long afterwards put into the mouth of Dominie Sampson's
mother:--"Please God, I may live to see my bairn wag his head in a