"How the deevil should I ken? and it is but little I care," added the irreverent quartermaster.
"He saith, 'Woe unto him that giveth his neighbour drink, that putteth a bottle to him, and maketh him drunken,'" said the dominie, balancing himself by turns on each leg; and opening and shutting each eye alternately.
"Drunken, you whaislin precentor?"
"Yea, as thou, wicked quartermaster, hast made me, and when we are close on the hour 'o' night's black arch the keystone,' as puir Burns has it."
"Never mind, dominie, the night is dark, and naebody will see you," stammered Girvan; "stick your knees into the saddle—gie your powny the reins, and he'll take you straight home, as he usually does. But I must away to my lord with this news; and so good-night. Now, dominie, steady—eyes front if you can!—hat cocked forward, cockade over the left eye—queue dressed straight with the seam of the coat—head up, little finger of each hand on the seam of the breeches—left foot thrown well out—pike advanced—forward, march! and hip, hip, hurrah for Quentin the volunteer!"
And arm in arm the two old topers quitted the "snuggery," the dominie to go home in care of his pony, and his entertainer to seek Lord and Lady Rohallion before they retired for the night.
That sure tidings had come of Quentin's safety occasioned the noble and worthy couple sincere joy.
"So, so," said the old Lord; "it is as I feared—the poor lad has joined the service."
"As a volunteer," added Girvan, with great empressement.
"As a poor, friendless volunteer, Winny; think of that, when one line from me to the Duke of York would give him an ensigncy. We have cruelly mismanaged this boy's prospects! I would that we knew the regiment he has joined; but, strange to say, he omits to mention it."