"We have no rectors in Scotland," said the landlord, bluntly.
"Well, there is one over the Border, a few miles from this——"
"On the road to Rothbury—good," said Charters.
"He is a justice of the peace, and such a one! Odsbud! he sent a child, four years old, to hard labour for having a tame pheasant for a pet."
"How?"
"As a poacher," added Boniface, with a rough malediction.
"Will he do?" asked the Corporal.
"Yes," said I, briefly; "and now let us begone."
"Bravo! Now, Kirkton—brandy and water—boot and saddle, and let us be off. Our new comrade shall share our horses alternately, for we have nearly twenty miles to travel to-day before we reach head-quarters."
As the troopers brought from the stable to the inn door their two stately grey chargers, in all the trappings of a heavy dragoon regiment, with saddle-cloth, scarlet valise, long holsters, powerful bits, and chain bridles, an old horse that was passing, heavily laden with the wares of an itinerant basket-maker, pricked up his ears, and switched his short shorn tail, and seemed to eye us wistfully.