“They went up the hill and picked oot a nice quate he-deer, and drove it doon in front o’ where his Majesty sat beside a stack o’ loaded guns. His Majesty was graciously pleased to tak’ up yin o’ the guns, and let bang at the deer.
“‘Weel done! That wass gey near him,’ said Dugald M’Fadyen, strikin’ the deer wi’ his stick to mak’ it stop eatin’ the gress.
“His Majesty fired a second time, and the deer couldna stand it ony langer, but went aff wi’ a breenge.
“‘Weel, it’s a fine day to be oot on the hull onywye,’ says M’Phedran, resigned-like, and the things that the heid ghillie Campbell didna say was terrible.
“The papers a’ said the deer was shot, and a bloody business too; but it wasna till lang efter the cauld-clye corpse o’t was found on the hill.
“‘Here it is!’ said M’Fadyen.
“‘I daursay it is,’ said M’Neill.
“‘It’ll hae to be it onywye,’ said the heid man, and they had it weighed.
“If it was sold in Gleska the day it would fetch ten shillin’s a-pound.
“If there’s ae thing I’ve noticed mair nor anither aboot Hielan’ ghillies, it’s that they’ll no’ hurt your feelin’s if they can help it. I’m Hielan’ mysel’; my name’s MacPherson; a flet fit but a warm hert, and I ken.