"Comin' thro' the Craigs o' Kyle,
Amang the bonnie bloomin' heather,
There I met a blue-eyed lassie,
Keepin' a' her flock thegither.
Owre the muir amang the heather!
Owre the muir amang the heather!
There I met—"
"For Heaven's sake, Dreghorn, make less noise."
"Fule that I was!" continued Dandy, continuing his repast and his reflections together; "fule that I was ever to leave my plew, to follow the deil and the drum in the Danish wars—ay, a damned fule," he added emphatically, with moistened eyes, as he sliced away at the loaf, and with his jockteleg spread on the honey an inch thick, and took alternately a large circular mouthful, and a draught from the leathern flask. He then drew an oak quaigh from his sporran, and, mixing the honey with the skeidam, said, "Will ye no tak a sup, sir? this is just like Athole brose. Here's to ye, sir, and may we baith be safe wi' Sir Donald in a day or twa; 'od, there's a gude Stirling pint left yet in the flask, and I'll just pouch it."
"Have you seen the count's daughters, Dandy?"
"Ay, have I, Maister Rollo—twa saucy limmers, that laugh at me to my very face!"
"They are very handsome."
"Handsome—sune ripe, sune rotten! They couldna haud a candle to muirland Maggie at the Burnfit o' Drumlie."
"Animated by no love of glory, or desire for military fame, I cannot conceive, Dandy, what tempted you to leave your plough, and become a soldier."
"It's a lang story, sir," replied Dreghorn, with his mouth full; "but I can mak it short enough, if you'll promise never to tell ony o' our chields at the regiment; for then I wad hae to quit that, as I quat the parochin o' Drumlie."
"I pledge you my word, Dandy."