Serjeant.—Troth, sir, I imagine you have solved the mystery. The truth is, as I told you before, that the great mass of the population of this Highland country consists of Roman Catholics; and it is probable that these candles, which have been originally used for some religious rite, have, from necessity, been this night lighted for your use.
Clifford.—Come, then, serjeant, do you proceed to use the candles as fast as may be. Open your budget, my good man, and give us one of your many legends.
Grant.—You had better allow the serjeant to mix a tumbler of warm stuff in the first place, and whilst he is doing so, he can be considering as to what he had best give us.
Serjeant.—Thank you, sir. I’ll just be doing that same. Would you have any objections to another legend of the Clan-Allan Stewarts, gentlemen?
Author.—Certainly not, Archy, if it be only as good as the last you gave us.
Serjeant.—It is not for me to speak in its praise, sir, though I must e’en say that I think it no worse than the last. But it is a hantel longer.
Grant.—The longer the better, if it be good. We have a long night, and great candles before us, so that you may give your tongue its fullest licence.
Serjeant.—Well, gentlemen, it’s a good thing to be neither gagged in the mouth, nor stinted in the bicker.
Author.—Depend upon it, Archy, you shall be neither the one nor the other.
Clifford.—Come away, then, serjeant, begin as soon as you please.