a wunner,' says I. 'O man, Birsay,' she says, 'I hae aye
been a freen' o' yours, ye micht e'en see gin he has it, an' seek it aff
him? There's the texts an' heads an' particulars o' mony sermons o' guid
Maister Welsh and precious Maister Guthrie in the hinner end o' the
Buik!'

"'So,' says I, aff-hand like, 'supposin' noo, just supposin' that
Sergeant Mulfeather has gotten your bit buik, an' that for freendship to
me he was wullin' to pairt wi't, what wad the bit buik be worth to ye.
Ye see it's treason to hae sic a thing, and rank conspiracy to thig and
barter to get it back--but what wull freends no do to obleege yin
anither?'"

"Ay, man Birsay," I said, to encourage him, for I saw that the little
man loved to talk. "An' what wull the auld body do then?"

"Faith, she'll gie me siller to tak' to Sergeant Mulfeather and get back
her bit buikie. An' that's just what Birsay wull do wi' richt guid
wull," he concluded cantily.

"And hae ye ony mair to tell me, Birsay?" I asked him. For his talk
cheered the long and doleful day, and as for belief, there was no reason
why one should believe more than seemed good of Birsay's conversation.

"Ay, there's yan thing mair that Birsay has to say to ye. You an' that
braw lad wi' the e'en like a lassie's are no richt Whigs, I'm jaloosin'.
Ye'll aiblins be o' the same way o' thinkin' as mysel'!"

At this I pretended to be much disconcerted, and said: "Wheest, wheest,
Birsay! Be canny wi' your tongue! Mind whaur ye are. What mean you?"

"Trust Birsay," he returned cunningly, cocking his frowsy head like a
year-old sparrow. "Gin the King, honest man, never comes to mair harm
than you an' me wusses him, he'll come gey weel oot o' some o' the ploys
that they blame him for."

"How kenned ye, Birsay," I said, to humour him, "that we werna Whigs?"

"O, I kenned brawly by the fashion o' your shoon. Thae shoon were never
made for Whigs, but for honest King's folk. Na, na, they dinna gree well
wi' the moss-broo ava--thae sort wi' the narrow nebs and single soles.
Only decent, sweering, regairdless folk, that wuss the King weel, tryst
shoon like them!"

It was clear that Birsay thought us as great traitors and spies in the
camp as he was himself. So he opened his heart to us. It was not a
flattering distinction, but as the confidence of the little man might be
an element in our own safety and that of our friends on some future
occasion, I felt that we would assuredly not undeceive him.