, which had been thrust into
his hand by his mother in order to reconcile this youthful emissary of
the post-office to the discharge of his duty. By and by, the crafty pony
availed himself of this surcease of discipline to twitch the rein out of
Davies hands, and applied himself to browse on the grass by the side of
the lane. Sorely astounded by these symptoms of self-willed rebellion,
and afraid alike to sit or to fall, poor Davie lifted up his voice
and wept aloud. The pony, hearing this pudder over his head, began
apparently to think it would be best both for himself and Davie to
return from whence they came, and accordingly commenced a retrograde
movement towards Fairport. But, as all retreats are apt to end in utter
rout, so the steed, alarmed by the boy's cries, and by the flapping of
the reins, which dangled about his forefeet--finding also his nose turned
homeward, began to set off at a rate which, if Davie kept the saddle (a
matter extremely dubious), would soon have presented him at Heukbane's
stable-door,--when, at a turn of the road, an intervening auxiliary, in
the shape of old Edie Ochiltree, caught hold of the rein, and stopped
his farther proceeding. "Wha's aught ye, callant? whaten a gate's that
to ride?"

"I canna help it!" blubbered the express; "they ca' me little Davie."

"And where are ye gaun?"

"I'm gaun to Monkbarns wi' a letter."

"Stirra, this is no the road to Monkbarns."

But Davie could oinly answer the expostulation with sighs and tears.

Old Edie was easily moved to compassion where childhood was in the
case.--"I wasna gaun that gate," he thought, "but it's the best o' my
way o' life that I canna be weel out o' my road. They'll gie me quarters
at Monkbarns readily eneugh, and I'll e'en hirple awa there wi' the
wean, for it will knock its hams out, puir thing, if there's no somebody
to guide the pony.--Sae ye hae a letter, hinney? will ye let me see't?"

"I'm no gaun to let naebody see the letter," sobbed the boy, "till I
gie't to Mr. Lovel, for I am a faithfu' servant o' the office--if it
werena for the powny."

"Very right, my little man," said Ochiltree, turning the reluctant
pony's head towards Monkbarns; "but we'll guide him atween us, if he's
no a' the sweerer."

Upon the very height of Kinprunes, to which Monkbarns had invited Lovel
after their dinner, the Antiquary, again reconciled to the once degraded
spot, was expatiating upon the topics the scenery afforded for a
des