' Davie all this while lay with his nose
almost in the fire, nuzzling among the ashes, kicking his heels, mumbling
to himself, turning the eggs as they lay in the hot embers, as if to
confute the proverb, that 'there goes reason to roasting of eggs,' and
justify the eulogium which poor Janet poured out upon
Him whom she loved, her idiot boy.
'Davie's no sae silly as folk tak him for, Mr. Wauverley; he wadna hae
brought you here unless he had kend ye was a friend to his Honour; indeed
the very dogs kend ye, Mr. Wauverley, for ye was aye kind to beast and
body. I can tell you a story o' Davie, wi' his Honour's leave. His
Honour, ye see, being under hiding in thae sair times--the mair's the
pity--he lies a' day, and whiles a' night, in the cove in the dern hag;
but though it's a bieldy eneugh bit, and the auld gudeman o' Corse-Cleugh
has panged it wi' a kemple o' strae amaist, yet when the country's quiet,
and the night very cauld, his Honour whiles creeps doun here to get a
warm at the ingle and a sleep amang the blankets, and gangs awa in the
morning. And so, ae morning, siccan a fright as I got! Twa unlucky
red-coats were up for black-fishing, or some siccan ploy--for the neb o'
them's never out o' mischief--and they just got a glisk o' his Honour as
he gaed into the wood, and banged aff a gun at him.
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