ye.

"Preserve us a', what's yon on Davit Armitt's riggin'?" he cried.

And so surprised was Gib Martin, that he came all the way down the
street in three spangs, and that on his stocking-feet, though he was a
married man.

But he did not see the Old Tory sitting by the side of the pig-sty--a
thing he had cause to be sorry for.

"Save us, Jamie, what are ye doin' sittin' on Davit Armitt's
hoose-riggin'? Gin the doited auld Tory brute catches ye--"

"A fine mornin' to ye, tailor," said the Old Tory from the side of the
dyke.

The tailor faced about with a sudden pallor.

The muzzle of Mons Meg was set fair upon him, and he felt for the first
time in his life that he could not have threaded a needle had his life
depended on it.

"Climb up there aside the other four," commanded David Armitt.

"I'm on my stockin'-feet, Davit!" said the tailor.

"It's brave an' dry for the stockin'-feet up on the riggin'," said the
Old Tory. "Up wi' ye, lad; ye couldna do better."

And the tailor was beside the others before he knew it, a strand of the
bright yellow streaming from the button-hole of his shirt. So one after
another the inhabitants of Dullarg came out to wonder, and mounted to
wear the badge of slavery; until, when the chariot of the Tory candidate
dashed in at twenty minutes to seven on its way to the county town, the
rigging of David Armitt's house was crowded with men all decorated with
his yellow colours. Never had such a sight been seen in the Radical and
Chartist village of Dullarg.

Then the Old Tory leaped to his feet as the horses went prancing by.

"Gie a cheer, boys!" he cried; and as the muzzle of Mons Meg swept down
the file, a strange wavering cry arose, that was half a gowl of anger
and half a broken-backed cheer.

Then "Bang!" went Mons Meg, and David Armitt took down the street at
full speed with sixteen angry men jumping at his tail. But, by good
luck, he got upon the back of the Laird's coach, and was borne rapidly
out of their sight down the dusty road that led to the county town.

It was the Old Tory's Waterloo. He did not venture back till the time of
the bee-killing. Then he came without fear, for he knew he was the only
man who could take off the honey from the village hives to the
satisfaction of the parish.

The Old Tory kept the secret of his Toryism to the last.

Only the minister caught it as he lay a-dying. He was not penitent, but
he wanted to explain matters.

"It's no as