"Then ye saw a bonny stour," said Cuddie, "that sail serve me for
fighting a' the days o' my life. I judged ye wad be a trooper, by your
red scarlet lace-coat and your looped hat."
"And which side were you upon, my friend?" continued the inquisitive
stranger.
"Aha, lad?" retorted Cuddie, with a knowing look, or what he designed for
such,--"there 's nae use in telling that, unless I kend wha was asking
me."
"I commend your prudence, but it is unnecessary; I know you acted on that
occasion as servant to Henry Morton."
"Ay!" said Cuddie, in surprise, "how came ye by that secret? No that I
need care a bodee about it, for the sun's on our side o' the hedge now. I
wish my master were living to get a blink o't"
"And what became of him?" said the rider.
"He was lost in the vessel gaun to that weary Holland,--clean lost; and
a' body perished, and my poor master amang them. Neither man nor mouse
was ever heard o' mair." Then Cuddie uttered a groan.
"You had some regard for him, then?" continued the stranger.
"How could I help it? His face was made of a fiddle, as they say, for a'
body that looked on him liked him. And a braw soldier he was. Oh, an ye
had but seen him down at the brigg there, fleeing about like a fleeing
dragon to gar folk fight that had unto little will till 't! There was he
and that sour Whigamore they ca'd Burley: if twa men could hae won a
field, we wadna hae gotten our skins paid that day.
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