"Yes," I answered.
"Weel," he said, "I'll do a bit o' fancy work on your face, and I'll leave your upper lip alane and wi' some o' my magical salve you can dress your moustachios to make you look like a Cavalier. Forby, I'll leave you a wee tuft on your chin, like the King. I'll warrant neither the folk that saw you in Dumfries wi' a fortnicht's growth on yer face, nor the troopers that kent ye as a clean-shaven man, will be likely to recognise you."
When he had finished his work he stood back and looked at me carefully, poising his head upon one side, and as was his wont half closing his left eye. He was evidently satisfied, for, with characteristic self-complacency, he said:
"Man, Hector, ye're a lad o' mony pairts."
Out of his pack he produced a small looking-glass of burnished steel and handed it to me. In the uncertain morning light the reflection of my face was not very distinct, but enough to show that my disguise was effective, for I hardly recognised myself.
"Come on," said Hector, swinging up his pack, and crossing the bridge we continued our journey.
The country had the glamour of early summer upon it. Every bush was crowned with a coronal of green: the fields were smiling with promise: the hill-sides were dimpling with sunny laughter, and the river, which now ran beside us, babbled cheerfully as it sped on its way to the sea.
After a few more miles we saw, in the distance, a long row of cottages flanking our way. Hector suddenly quitted the road, and, hidden behind a hedge, we made a long detour in order to avoid them.
"Yon," said he, "is the village o' Closeburn. The curate's a spy and a tyrant. It behoves us no' to be seen."
Making use of all the cover we could, and continuing our way till Closeburn was left behind, we came out upon a narrow and unfrequented road overshadowed by beech and oak trees. The air thrilled with the song of birds, and the spirit of the hour seemed to have descended upon the packman, for as we trudged along he whistled merrily. By and by we came to the edge of a wood. Just on its margin we crossed a rustic bridge which spanned a little brown rivulet that trickled sinuously in and out between its mossy banks. Following the line of the stream we entered the wood, Hector leading the way. The ground was a great carpet of luscious green, save where it was spangled over with beds of blue speedwell. The foliage of the trees--beech, oak and mountain ash, pine and fir--broke up the rays of sunlight and the air within the wood was delightfully cool. Our path led steadily up from the bed of the stream till it looked like an amber thread meandering through a gorge a hundred feet beneath us. Here and there its course was checked by a quiet pool, so still that one might think the stream had ceased to flow; and where some branch of a bush or tree touched the surface of the water it was garlanded with a ball of tawny froth from which little flakes broke away and studded the surface of the pool like scattered silver coins.