“They’ve left their bonnie Highland hills,
Their wives and bairnies dear,
To draw the sword for Scotland’s Lord,
The young Chevalier.”
Caroline, Lady Nairn.
Yesterday, when Flora and I sat at our sewing in the manse parlour, something happened which has set everything in a turmoil. We had been talking, but we were silent just then: and I was thinking over what my Uncle Drummond and Mr Whitefield had said, when all at once we heard the gate dashed open, and Angus came rushing up the path with his plaid flying behind him. Flora sprang up and ran to meet him.
“What is the matter?” she said. “’Tis so unlike Angus to come dashing up in that way. I do hope nothing is wrong with Father.”
I dropped my sewing and ran after her.
“Angus, what is wrong?” she cried.
“Why should anything be wrong? Can’t something be right?” cried Angus, as he came up; and I saw that his cheeks were flushed and his eyes flashing. “The Prince has landed, and the old flag is flying at Glenfinnan. Hurrah!”
And Angus snatched off his cap, and flung it up so high that I wondered if it would come down again.
“The Prince!” cried Flora; and looking at her, I saw that she had caught the infection too. “O Angus, what news! Who told you? Is it true? Are you quite sure?”
“Sure as the hills. Duncan told me. I have been over to Monksburn, and he has just come home. All the clans in Scotland will be up to-morrow. That was the one thing we wanted—our Prince himself among us. You will hear of no faint hearts now.”
“What will the Elector do?” said Flora. “He cannot, surely, make head against our troops.”