for a baron to put up, Jock," says I.
"There's rizzons," says he, an' lays his forefinger upo' the side o'
's nose, o' whilk there was hardly eneuch to haud it ohn gane intil the
opposit ee. "We're no far frae there," says I--an' deed I can hardly
tell ye, Robert, what garred me say sae, but I jist wantit to ken what
that gentleman-brither o' mine was efter; "tak the horse hame," says
I--"I'll jist loup upo' Black Geordie--an' we'll hae a glaiss thegither.
I'll stan' treat." Sae he gae me the bridle, an' I lap on. The deevil
tried to get a moufu' o' my hip, but, faith! I was ower swack for 'im;
an' awa we rade.'

'I didna ken 'at ye cud ride, Shargar.'

'Hoots! I cudna help it. I was aye takin' the horse to the watter at
The Boar's Heid, or The Royal Oak, or Lucky Happit's, or The Aucht an'
Furty. That's hoo I cam to ken Jock sae weel. We war guid eneuch frien's
whan I didna care for leein' or sweirin', an' sic like.'

'And what on earth did ye want wi' 'im noo?'

'I tell ye I wantit to ken what that ne'er-do-weel brither o' mine was
efter. I had seen the horses stan'in' aboot twa or three times i' the
gloamin'; an' Sandy maun be aboot ill gin he be aboot onything.'

'What can 't maitter to you, Shargar, what a man like him 's aboot?'

'Weel, ye see, Robert, my mither aye broucht me up to ken a' 'at fowk
was aboot, for she said ye cud never tell whan it micht turn oot to the
weelfaur o' yer advantage--gran' words!--I wonner whaur she forgathert
wi' them. But she was a terrible wuman, my mither, an' kent a heap o'
things--mair nor 'twas gude to ken, maybe. She gaed aboot the country
sae muckle, an' they say the gipsies she gaed amang 's a dreadfu' auld
fowk, an' hae the wisdom o' the Egyptians 'at Moses wad hae naething to
do wi'.'

'Whaur is she noo?'

'I dinna ken. She may turn up ony day.'

'There's ae thing, though, Shargar: gin ye want to be a gentleman, ye
maunna gang keekin' that gate intil ither fowk's affairs.'

'Weel, I maun gie 't up. I winna say a word o' what Jock Mitchell tellt
me aboot Lord Sandy.'

'Ow, say awa'.'

'Na, na; ye wadna like to hear aboot ither fowk's affairs. My mither
tellt me he did verra ill efter Watterloo till a fremt (stranger) lass
at Brussels. But that's neither here nor there. I maun set aboot my
version, or I winna get it dune the nicht.'

'What is Lord Sandy after? What did the rascal tell you? Why do you make
such a mystery of it?' said Robert, authoritatively, an