"Have you no one but this pretty little girl to assist you in waiting on
your guests?" was the natural question.
"None, sir," replied his old hostess; "I dwell alone, like the widow of
Zarephath. Few guests come to this puir place, and I haena custom eneugh
to hire servants. I had anes twa fine sons that lookit after a' thing.
--But God gives and takes away,--His name be praised!" she continued,
turning her clouded eyes towards Heaven.--"I was anes better off, that
is, waridly speaking, even since I lost them; but that was before this
last change."
"Indeed!" said Morton; "and yet you are a Presbyterian, my good mother?"
"I am, sir; praised be the light that showed me the right way," replied
the landlady.
"Then I should have thought," continued the guest, the Revolution would
have brought you nothing but good."
"If," said the old woman, "it has brought the land gude, and freedom of
worship to tender consciences, it's little matter what it has brought to
a puir blind worm like me."
"Still," replied Morton, "I cannot see how it could possibly injure you."
"It's a lang story, sir," answered his hostess, with a sigh. "But ae
night, sax weeks or thereby afore Bothwell Brigg, a young gentleman
stopped at this puir cottage, stiff and bloody with wounds, pale and dune
out wi' riding, and his horse sae weary he couldna drag ae foot after the
other, and his foes were close ahint him, and he was ane o' our enemies.
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