Old Tory was the man to enjoy a time like that. On the day before
the election he set a banner on his chimney which he called "the right
yellow," which flaunted bravely all day so long as David Armitt, the Old
Tory, sat at his door busking salmon hooks, with a loaded blunderbuss at
his elbow and grim determination in the cock of one shaggy grey eyebrow.

But at night, when all was quiet under the Dullarg stars, Jamie
Wardhaugh and three brave spirits climbed to the rigging of the Old
Tory's house, tore down his yellow flag, thrust the staff down the
chimney, and set a slate across the aperture.

Then they climbed down and proceeded to complete their ploy. Jamie
Wardhaugh proposed that they should tie the yellow flag to the pig's
tail in derision of the Old Tory and his Toryism. It was indeed a happy
thought, and would make them the talk of the village upon election day.
They would set the decorated pig on the dyke to see the Tory candidate's
carriage roll past in the early morning.

They were indeed the talk of the village; but, alas! the thing itself
did not quite fall out as they had anticipated. For, while they were
bent in a cluster within the narrow, slippery quadrangle of the pig-sty,
and just as Jamie Wardhaugh sprawled on his knees to catch the
slumbering inmate by the hind-leg, they were suddenly hailed in a deep,
quiet voice--the voice of the Old Tory.

"Bide ye whaur ye are, lads--ye will do bravely there. I hae Mons Meg on
ye, fu' to the bell wi' slugs, and she is the boy to scatter. It was
kind o' ye to come and see to the repairing o' my bit hoose an' the
comfort o' my bit swine. Ay, kind it was--an' I tak' it weel. Ye see,
lads, my wife Meg wull no let me sleep i' the hoose at election times,
for Meg is a reid-headed Radical besom--sae I e'en tak' up my quarters
i' the t'ither end o' the swine-ree, whaur the auld sow died oot o'."

The men appeared ready to make a break for liberty, but the bell-mouth
of Mons Meg deterred them.

"It's a fine nicht for the time o' year, Davit!" at last said Jamie
Wardhaugh. "An' a nice bit pig. Ye hae muckle credit o't!"

"Ay," said David Armitt, "'deed, an' ye are richt. It's a sonsy bit
swine."

"We'll hae to be sayin' guid-nicht, Davit!" at last said Jamie
Wardhaugh, rather limply.

"Na, na, lads. It's but lanesome oot here--an' the morn's election day.
We'll e'en see it in thegither. I see that ye hae a swatch o' the guid
colour there. That's braw! Noo, ther