been
carried to the kirkyard.

"Jenny," said Niel Blane, as the girl assisted to disencumber him of his
bagpipes, "this is the first day that ye are to take the place of your
worthy mother in attending to the public; a douce woman she was, civil to
the customers, and had a good name wi' Whig and Tory, baith up the street
and down the street. It will be hard for you to fill her place,
especially on sic a thrang day as this; but Heaven's will maun be
obeyed.--Jenny, whatever Milnwood ca's for, be sure he maun hae't, for
he's the Captain o' the Popinjay, and auld customs maun be supported; if
he canna pay the lawing himsell, as I ken he's keepit unco short by the
head, I'll find a way to shame it out o' his uncle.--The curate is
playing at dice wi' Cornet Grahame. Be eident and civil to them
baith--clergy and captains can gie an unco deal o' fash in thae times,
where they take an ill-will.--The dragoons will be crying for ale, and
they wunna want it, and maunna want it--they are unruly chields, but
they pay ane some gate or other. I gat the humle-cow, that's the best in
the byre, frae black Frank Inglis and Sergeant Bothwell, for ten pund
Scots, and they drank out the price at ae downsitting."

"But, father," interrupted Jenny, "they say the twa reiving loons drave
the cow frae the gudewife o' Bell's-moor, just because she gaed to hear a
field-preaching ae Sabbath afternoon."

"Whisht! ye silly tawpie," said her father, "we have naething to do how
they come by the bestial they sell--be that atween them and their
consciences.--Aweel--Take notice, Jenny, of that dour, stour-looking
carle that sits by the cheek o' the ingle, and turns his back on a' men.
He looks like ane o' the hill-folk, for I saw him start a wee when he saw
the red-coats, and I jalouse he wad hae liked to hae ridden by, but his
horse (it's a gude gelding) was ower sair travailed; he behoved to stop
whether he wad or no. Serve him cannily, Jenny, and wi' little din, and
dinna bring the sodgers on him by speering ony questions at him; but let
na him hae a room to himsell, they wad say we were hiding him.--For
yoursell, Jenny, ye'll be civil to a' the folk, and take nae heed o' ony
nonsense and daffing the young lads may say t'ye. Folk in the hostler
line maun put up wi' muckle. Your mither, rest her saul, could pit up wi'
as muckle as maist women--but aff hands is fair play; and if ony body be
uncivil ye may gie me a cry--Aweel,--when the malt begins to ge