ate and drank he would gossip about
the ways of the world; and though he never mentioned his own doings,
there was such an air of mastery about him as made him seem the centre
figure of his tales, I could see that Grey was mightily captivated, and
all afternoon he plied him with questions, and laughed joyously at his
answers. As we camped that night, while Grey was minding his horse
Ringan spoke of him to me.

"I like the lad, Andrew. He has the makings of a very proper gentleman,
and he has the sense to be young. What I complain of in you is that
you're desperate old. I wonder whiles if you ever were a laddie. For
me, though I'm ten years the elder of the pair of you, I've no more
years than your friend, and I'm a century younger than you. That's the
Highland way. There's that in our blood that keeps our eyes young
though we may be bent double. With us the heart is aye leaping till
Death grips us. To my mind it's a lovable character that I fain would
cherish. If I couldn't sing on a spring morning or say a hearty grace
over a good dinner I'd be content to be put away in a graveyard."

And that, I think, is the truth. But at the time I was feeling pretty
youthful, too, though my dour face and hard voice were a bad clue to my
sentiments.

Next day on the Rappahannock we found Shalah, who had gone on to warn
the two men I proposed to enlist. One of them, Donaldson, was a big,
slow-spoken, middle-aged farmer, the same who had been with Bacon in
the fight at Occaneechee Island. He just cried to his wife to expect
him back when she saw him, slung on his back an old musket, cast a long
leg over his little horse, and was ready to follow. The other, the
Frenchman Bertrand, was a quiet, slim gentleman, who was some kin to
the murdered D'Aubignys. I had long had my eye on him, for he was very
wise in woodcraft, and had learned campaigning under old Turenne. He
kissed his two children again and again, and his wife clung to his
arms. There were tears in the honest fellow's eyes as he left, and I
thought all the more of him, for he is the bravest man who has most to
risk. I mind that Ringan consoled the lady in the French tongue, which
I did not comprehend, and would not be hindered from getting out his
saddle-bags and comforting the children with candied plums. He had near
as grave a face as Bertrand when we rode off, and was always looking
back to the homestead. He spoke long to the Frenchman in his own
speech, and the sad fac