"My name is de Brydde," I replied, ignoring his criticisms of my person.
"De Brydde," he repeated. "It sounds French. Ye'd better ca' yersel' Bryden. It's a guid Scots name, and less kenspeckle. Pu' yer shouthers back, and haud up yer heid."
Two dragoons entered the tavern, and the sergeant was on his dignity.
"Tak' this recruit," he said, "to heidquarters, and hand him ower to the sergeant-major. He's a likely chiel."
I rose to accompany the men, but the sergeant tapped me on the shoulder:
"Ye've forgotten to pay the score," he said. "Hey, Mary," and the tavern maid came forward.
The King's shilling that was mine paid for the sergeant's hospitality. It's the way of the army.
So I became Trooper Bryden of Lag's Horse.
CHAPTER II
TROOPER BRYDEN OF LAG'S HORSE