knucklebones. I'm an extraordinar good hand at the knucklebones,

but it's a poor piece of business playing with naebody to admire

ye. And whiles I would make songs."

"What were they about?" says I.

"O, about the deer and the heather," says he, "and about the

ancient old chiefs that are all by with it lang syne, and just

about what songs are about in general. And then whiles I would

make believe I had a set of pipes and I was playing. I played some

grand springs, and I thought I played them awful bonny; I vow

whiles that I could hear the squeal of them! But the great affair

is that it's done with."

With that he carried me again to my adventures, which he heard all

over again with more particularity, and extraordinary approval,

swearing at intervals that I was "a queer character of a callant."

"So ye were frich'ened of Sim Fraser?" he asked once.

"In troth was I!" cried I.

"So would I have been, Davie," said he. "And that is indeed a

driedful man. But it is only proper to give the deil his due: and

I can tell you he is a most respectable person on the field of

war."

"Is he so brave?" I asked.

"Brave!" said he. "He is as brave as my steel sword."

The story of my duel set him beside himself.

"To think of that!" he cried. "I showed ye the trick in

Corrynakiegh too. And three times--three times disarmed! It's a

disgrace upon my character that learned ye! Here, stand up, out

with your airn; ye shall walk no step beyond this place upon the

road till ye can do yoursel' and me mair credit."

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