"Nor was he," said Lochiell; "it was in Edinburgh, when his head was cocked up on the Nether Bow, that I mind him—and a fine, wiselike; honest-seeming head it was."
The young man straightened himself fiercely, suspecting an intention to insult him.
"Na, na," said Lochiell, smilingly; "that's where every honest man's head ought to land at the last. James Graham's was there afore your father's, and mine, I doubt not, will follow one day. But they will send Keppoch's black puddock-stool tied up in a poke to fricht the bairns of Inverness."
"Ye are acquaint with my Lord Dundee, they tell me?" was Lochiell's next question.
"Aye," said Wat, "and well acquaint—though I know not how he would receive me now. Yet many a time have I ridden blithely enough at his side when I was a lad, until I had the misfortune to be outlawed and attainted by the Privy Council—"
"What was that for—not ony maitter o' religion and godliness, I hope? Nae sic Whiggery about a brisk lad like you, surely?" said Keppoch.
"It was for the small matter of sticking a sword into a man or two belonging to my Lord Duke of Wellwood," interrupted Scarlett, "and maybe for helping his Grace himself to an ounce of lead—"
"Hoot!" cried Keppoch, "John Graham will never steer ye for ony sic cause. He is great on the drill and discipline, but as to the richtin' o' a bit private misunderstanding, that surely is every gentleman's ain business."
"That was not the view the Council took of the matter," said Wat, smiling.
"Oh, they wad doubtless be o' the ither man's clan, or his connections and well-wishers in some shape—ye couldna blame them. They wad do the best they could for their side, nae doot," answered Keppoch.