Flockhart, and the deevil
tak the shortest nails.'
'And will the colonel venture on the bagganets himsell?'
'Ye may swear it, Mrs. Flockhart; the very first man will he be, by Saint
Phedar.'
'Merciful goodness! and if he's killed amang the redcoats!' exclaimed the
soft-hearted widow.
'Troth, if it should sae befall, Mrs. Flockhart, I ken ane that will no
be living to weep for him. But we maun a' live the day, and have our
dinner; and there's Vich lan Vohr has packed his dorlach, and Mr.
Waverley's wearied wi' majoring yonder afore the muckle pier-glass; and
that grey auld stoor carle, the Baron o' Bradwardine that shot young
Ronald of Ballenkeiroch, he's coming down the close wi' that droghling
coghling bailie body they ca' Macwhupple, just like the Laird o'
Kittlegab's French cook, wi' his turnspit doggie trindling ahint him, and
I am as hungry as a gled, my bonny dow; sae bid Kate set on the broo',
and do ye put on your pinners, for ye ken Vich lan Vohr winna sit down
till ye be at the head o' the table;--and dinna forget the pint bottle o'
brandy, my woman.'
This hint produced dinner. Mrs. Flockhart, smiling in her weeds like the
sun through a mist, took the head of the table, thinking within herself,
perhaps, that she cared not how long the rebellion lasted that brought
her into company so much above her usual associates.
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