If there's an honest woman in the world, it's Bessie
Maclure. And to lose her twa sons, as I was saying, and to hae dragoons
clinked down on her for a month bypast,--for, be Whig or Tory uppermost,
they aye quarter thae loons on victuallers,--to lose, as I was saying--"
"This woman keeps an inn, then?" interrupted Morton.
"A public, in a puir way," replied Blane, looking round at his own
superior accommodations,--"a sour browst o' sma' ale that she sells to
folk that are over drouthy wi' travel to be nice; but naething to ca' a
stirring trade or a thriving changehouse."
"Can you get me a guide there?" said Morton.
"Your honour will rest here a' the night? Ye'll hardly get accommodation
at Bessie's," said Niel, whose regard for his deceased wife's relative by
no means extended to sending company from his own house to hers.
"There is a friend," answered Morton, "whom I am to meet with there, and
I only called here to take a stirrup-cup and inquire the way."
"Your honour had better," answerd the landlord, with the perseverance of
his calling, "send some ane to warn your friend to come on here."
"I tell you, landlord," answered Morton, impatiently, "that will not
serve my purpose; I must go straight to this woman Maclure's house, and
I desire you to find me a guide.
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