"Poor man!" answered Tommy, "I am very much obliged to him; for, when I went to save Harry's lamb, the dog attacked me, and would have hurt me
very much if he had not come to my assistance and killed him with his great sword. So I have brought him with me that he might refresh himself with his poor children, one of which has a terrible ague; for I knew, papa, that though I had not behaved well of late, you would not be against my doing an act of charity." "I am, on the contrary, very glad," said Mr Merton, "to see you have so much gratitude in your temper. But what is the reason that I see you thus disfigured with dirt? Surely you must have been riding, and your horse has thrown you? And so it is, for here is William following with both the horses in a foam."
William at that moment appeared, and, trotting up to his master, began to make excuses for his own share in the business. "Indeed, sir," said he, "I did not think there was the least harm in going out with Master Tommy, and we were riding along as quietly as possible, and master was giving me a long account of the Arabs, who, he said, lived in the finest country in the world, which does not produce anything to eat or drink, or wear, and yet they never want to come upon the parish, but ride upon the most mettled horses in the world, fit to start for any plate in England. And just as he was giving me this account, Punch took it into his head to run away, and while I was endeavouring to catch him, he jumped into a quagmire, and shot Master Tommy off in the middle of it." "No," said Tommy, "there you mistake; I believe I could manage a much more spirited horse than Punch, but I thought it prudent to throw myself off for fear of his plunging deeper into the mire." "But how is this?" said Mr
Merton, "the pony used to be the quietest of horses; what can have given him this sudden impulse to run away? Surely, William, you were not so imprudent as to trust your master with spurs?" "No, sir," answered William, "not I; and I can take my oath he had no spurs on when he first set out."
Mr Merton was convinced there was some mystery in this transaction, and, looking at his son to find it out, he at length discovered the ingenious contrivance of Tommy to supply the place of spurs, and could hardly preserve his gravity at the sight. He, however, mildly set before him his imprudence, which might have been attended with the most fatal consequences—the fracture of his limbs, or even the loss of his life—and desired him for the future to be more cautious. They then returned to the house, and Mr Merton ordered his servants to supply his guests with plenty of the most nourishing food.
After breakfast they sent for the unhappy stranger into the parlour, whose countenance now bespoke satisfaction and gratitude; and Mr Merton, who, by his dress and accent, discovered him to be an inhabitant of Scotland, desired to know by what accident he had thus wandered so far from home with these poor helpless children, and had been reduced to so much misery.
"Alas! your honour," answered the man, "I should ill deserve the favours you have shown me if I attempted to conceal anything from such worthy benefactors. My tale, however, is simple and uninteresting, and I fear there can be nothing in the story of my distress the least deserving of your attention."
"Surely," said Mr Merton, with the most benevo
lent courtesy, "there must be something in the distress of every honest man which ought to interest his fellow-creatures; and if you will acquaint us with all the circumstances of your situation, it may perhaps be within our power, as it certainly is in our inclinations, to do you further service."
The man then bowed to the company with an air of dignity which surprised them all, and thus began: "I was born in that part of our island which is called the North of Scotland. The country there, partly from the barrenness of the soil, and the inclemency of the season, and partly from other causes which I will not now enumerate, is unfavourable to the existence of its inhabitants. More than half of the year our mountains are covered with continual snows, which prohibit the use of agriculture, or blast the expectations of a harvest; yet the race of men which inhabit these dreary wilds are perhaps not more undeserving the smiles of fortune than many of their happier neighbours. Accustomed to a life of toil and hardship, their bodies are braced by the incessant difficulties they have to encounter, and their minds remain untainted by the example of their more luxurious neighbours; they are bred up from infancy with a deference and respect for their parents, and with a mutual spirit of endearment towards their equals, which I have not remarked in happier climates. These circumstances expand and elevate the mind, and attach the Highlanders to their native mountains with a warmth of affection which is scarcely known in the midst of polished cities and cultivated countries. Every man there is more or less acquainted with the history of his clan, and the martial exploits which