Edward how nearly her regiment had cut the petticoat people
into ribands at Falkirk, 'only somehow there was one of those nasty,
awkward marshes, that they are never without in Scotland, I think, and
so our poor dear little regiment suffered something, as my Nosebag says,
in that unsatisfactory affair. You, sir, have served in the dragoons?'
Waverley was taken so much at unawares, that he acquiesced.

'Oh, I knew it at once; I saw you were military from your air, and I was
sure you could be none of the foot-wobblers, as my Nosebag calls them.
What regiment, pray?' Here was a delightful question. Waverley, however,
justly concluded that this good lady had the whole army-list by heart;
and, to avoid detection by adhering to truth, answered--'Gardiner's
dragoons, ma'am; but I have retired some time.'

'Oh aye, those as won the race at the battle of Preston, as my Nosebag
says. Pray, sir, were you there?'

'I was so unfortunate, madam,' he replied, 'as to witness that
engagement.'

'And that was a misfortune that few of Gardiner's stood to witness, I
believe, sir--ha! ha! ha!--I beg your pardon; but a soldier's wife loves
a joke.'

'Devil confound you!' thought Waverley; 'what infernal luck has penned
me up with this inquisitive bag!'

Fortunately the good lady did not stick long to one subject. 'We are
coming to Ferrybridge, now,' she said, 'where there was a party of OURS
left to support the beadles, and constables, and justices, and these
sort of creatures that are examining papers and stopping rebels, and all
that.' They were hardly in the inn before she dragged Waverley to the
window, exclaiming, 'Yonder comes Corporal Bridoon, of our poor dear
troop; he's coming with the constable man: Bridoon's one of my lambs, as
Nosebag calls 'em. Come, Mr.--a--a--pray, what 's your name, sir?'

'Butler, ma'am,' said Waverley, resolved rather to make free with the
name of a former fellow officer, than run the risk of detection by
inventing one not to be found in the regiment.

'Oh, you got a troop lately, when that shabby fellow, Waverley, went
over to the rebels. Lord, I wish our old cross Captain Crump would go
over to the rebels, that Nosebag might get the troop!--Lord, what can
Bridoon be standing swinging on the bridge for? I'll be hanged if he
a'nt hazy, as Nosebag says.--Come, sir, as you and I belong to the
service, we'll go put the rascal in mind of his duty.'

Waverley, with feelings more easily conceived than