"Feth! that I was, sir; and there," he added, holding out his right hand, which was minus the forefinger and thumb—"there's a certificate o' the truth o' my statement, gien under the hand o' ane o' Crum'll's praying dragoons. It was an ugly lick; but there were a hantle o' uglier anes than it gaun whar it was gotten. It was a coorse business athegither."
"It was no less, my good friend," said the young cavalier. "I was there, too."
"Was ye, feth?" replied the laird. "Then, if ye was, sir, ye saw a bonny stramash—mair than ye'll forget in a hurry, I daursay. It was an awfu scene yon, when the dragoons cam in upon us in the streets o' Worcester. 'Od! they sliced and slapped aboot them as if they had gotten into a plantation o' lang kale, and no amang Christian men like themsels."
"It was indeed a sad business," replied the young man, with a melancholy smile. "Saw ye the king on that day?"
"I did," replied the laird.
"Wouldst know him again?"
"No; I canna think I wad. I just got a glisk o' him, for the first and last time, in the middle o' the dirdum at Worcester. When I saw him, the puir lad was fechtin like a Turk; but it was a' to nae purpose. He was obleeged to rin for't at last, and to perk himsel up in a tree, like a hoolet, to keep oot o' the way o' Crum'll's sodgers. If they had gotten the puir lad—as it was a God's mercy they didna—they wad hae taen aff his head, nae doot, as they did his unfortunate faither's; and then, as, indeed, it's said they proposed to do, made a buttonmaker o' his sister, and maybe a Spitalfields weaver o' his brither, the Duke o' Gloucester."
"I have heard," replied the young cavalier, with a contemptuous smile, while a blush of deep feeling, it might be indignation, overspread his intelligent countenance—"I have heard that some such idea was actually entertained by the Parliament as that thou hast alluded to."
"There's nae doot that such a report was current, sir; but whether true or no, I winna tak upon me to say. They may hae been belied in't."
"I hope they may," replied the young cavalier, musingly. Then, suddenly recovering himself, and assuming his usual cheerfulness of manner—"And what are the king's friends about in Scotland?" he said, slapping the laird good-humouredly on the knee.