"I weel mind the time, your ladyship," replied Simeon, scratching his galligaskins where he had received a thrust from a Puritan's pike; "but the fleeing dragon, wi' its fiery tail, was thought to portend——"
"Just such things, Simeon, as the bright lights in the north hae portended this month past. And ye ken, Sir Thomas, that the miraculous shower of Highland bannets whilk preceded the irruption of the ill-faured Redshanks into the west, in the December of '84, was another wonderful and terrible omen."
"True, Lady Grisel," replied Dalyell, taking a sip from his tankard; "but ane partaking owre mickle o' the leaven o' the auld Covenant (d—n it!) for an auld cavalier like myself to believe; unless auld Mahoud was the merchant that made sae free wi' his gear. He has owre lang been poking his neb in our Scottish affairs."
"O' which my late lord (rest him!) had most ocular proof," said Lady Drumsturdy, in a low impressive voice—"when he saw him, wi' horns and tail, dancing on the walls o' Blackness, in the hoar o' its upblawin', in the year 1652."*
* See Nicol's Diary.
"Cocksnails!" muttered Drumdryan, "here's the snow coming down the lum," and he shook the flakes from his wig.
"You are sitting owre far ben the ingle, laird."
"We'll hae a storm this night, sirs," said Simeon. "I ken by the sough o' the norlan wind—its gey driech and eerie."
"'Sdeath! I hope not," said Drumdryan. "I've a score o' braw bell-wethers owre the muir at the Buckstane; and I lost enough at Martinmas-tide, when twa hundred black faces were smoored in the Glen o' Braid."
"And there has been no word from England since the snow fell—six weeks?" said Lilian sighing.