“Was it on your master’s farm that he preached?”
“No, it was in a linn on the Earl Hill, in the march between two lairds’ lands, that he preached that day.”
“How durst you go to an unlawful conventicle?”
“I didna ken there was a law against it till after—it’s a wild place this—we never hear ony o’ the news, unless it be twice a–year frae the Moffat fairs. But as soon as I heard him praying and preaching against the king I cam aff an’ left him, an’ brought a’ my lads an’ lasses wi’ me; but my wife wadna steer her fit—there she sat, shaking her head and glooming at me; but I trow I cowed her for’t after.”
“What did he say of the king?”
“O, I canna mind—he said nae muckle gude o’ him.”
“Did he say that he was a bloody perjured tyrant?”
“Ay, he said muckle waur nor that. He said some gayan ill–farr’d things about him. But I cam away and left him; I thought he was saying mair than gude manners warrantit.”
“Were you in the Hope, as you call it; on that day that the king’s soldiers were slain?”
“Ay, that I was; I was the first wha came on them whan they war just new dead, an’ a’ reeking i’ their warm blude—Gude keep us a’ frae sic sights again!—for my part, I never gat sic a confoundit gliff sin’ I was born o’ my mother.”