s of
Balmawhapple and Killancureit declared their determination to acknowledge
their sense of the hospitality of Tully-Veolan by partaking, with their
entertainer and his guest Captain Waverley, what they technically called
deoch an doruis, a stirrup-cup, [Footnote 2: See Note 10] to the honour
of the Baron's roof-tree.

It must be noticed that the Bailie, knowing by experience that the day's
jovialty, which had been hitherto sustained at the expense of his patron,
might terminate partly at his own, had mounted his spavined grey pony,
and, between gaiety of heart and alarm for being hooked into a reckoning,
spurred him into a hobbling canter (a trot was out of the question), and
had already cleared the village. The others entered the change-house,
leading Edward in unresisting submission; for his landlord whispered him,
that to demur to such an overture would be construed into a high
misdemeanour against the leges conviviales, or regulations of genial
compotation. Widow Macleary seemed to have expected this visit, as well
she might, for it was the usual consummation of merry bouts, not only at
Tully-Veolan, but at most other gentlemen's houses in Scotland, Sixty
Years Since. The guests thereby at once acquitted themselves of their
burden of gratitude for their entertainer's kindness, encouraged the
trade of his change-house, did honour to the place which afforded harbour
to their horses, and indemnified themselves for the previous restraints
imposed by private hospitality, by spending what Falstaff calls the sweet
of the night in the genial license of a tavern.

Accordingly, in full expectation of these distinguished guests, Luckie
Macleary had swept her house for the first time this fortnight, tempered
her turf-fire to such a heat as the season required in her damp hovel
even at Midsummer, set forth her deal table newly washed, propped its
lame foot with a fragment of turf, arranged four or five stools of huge
and clumsy form upon the sites which best suited the inequalities of her
clay floor; and having, moreover, put on her clean toy, rokelay, and
scarlet plaid, gravely awaited the arrival of the company, in full hope
of custom and profit. When they were seated under the sooty rafters of
Luckie Macleary's only apartment, thickly tapestried with cobwebs, their
hostess, who had already taken her cue from the Laird of Balmawhapple,
appeared with a huge pewter measuring-pot, containing at least three
English quarts, fam