"Can ye show me your handwriting? Have ye any specimens upon you?"
Sandy pulled out of his pocket some scraps o paper that exhibited his fist. His lordship looked at them, and said the writing was very guid—that it wad do very weel. "Now, then, Sandy," he added, "I'll tell ye what I mean to do for you, to begin wi': there's anither serjeant wanted for your company, and I hae desired Captain Douglas to appoint you. You will get a suit o' claes frae the store, and there's five guineas to you to purchase necessaries, and I hae nae doot ye'll turn oot a guid and brave sodger."
Sandy endeavoured to express his gratitude for the sudden and unexpected fortune; but he couldna. Nor, though he had been able, did his lordship gie him an opportunity; for, anticipatin the lad's embarrassment, he walked awa the moment he had dune speakin.
Next day, Sandy appeared in the uniform o' a non-commissioned officer; and, being now on the road to promotion, returned, at the conclusion o' the war, to his native place, as captain; attributin a' his guid fortune to the breakfast which his mother gae to Lord Drumlanrig at the Nether Mill.
"Aweel, it is really curious how things turn oot sometimes," said lang Jamie Turner, on the conclusion o' the foregoing story—"very curious. Did ye ever hear, Mr Gas," continued Jamie, now addressing his landlord, "hoo Jock Tinwald, a son o' Andrew Tinwald's o' Shaw Hill, recovered forty guineas he ance lost at the Candlemas Fair o' Dumfries?"
"No," said Mr Gas, looking with interest at the speaker. "I never heard that ane."
"It was a gey clever ane," said Jamie Turner, and, without further preface, he proceeded to relate the following adventure:—
On a certain Candlemas Fair, some twa or three years back, auld Tinwald o' Shaw Hill sent his son Jock to Dumfries, wi' forty guineas in a net purse in his pocket, to purchase a couple o' good draught horses. Jock wasna lang in the fair until he fell in wi' twa horses that appeared to be o' precisely the description he wanted. He inquired their price, found it wasna far beyond the mark, and, finally, after some chaffering, struck a bargain with the seller. This done, the young farmer put his hand into his pocket, to bring out the net purse with the forty guineas. He started, and looked pale. It was not in the pocket in which he thought—nay, in which he was certain he had put it. He searched anither, and anither, and anither, with distraction in his looks. It was in nane o' them—it was lost, gane! He had been robbed. O' this there was nae doubt. Poor Jock was in despair, but it was an evil without a remedy; for he had not the smallest notion when, where, or by whom he had been plundered. There was therefore no help for it; and, feelin this, Jock repaired to a public-house, drowned the recollection of his loss in brandy, and went home at nicht penniless, horseless, and drunk.
Six months after this, the Rude Fair of Dumfries came round; and, in the thick and the thrang o' this fair, micht hae been seen the braid shouthers and the round, healthfu, guid-natured face o' Jock Tinwald. But surely he'll tak care this time how he mingles wi' the crood, or at least keep a sharp ee on his neebors. Not he. There he is, pushin and jostlin awa in the heart o' the very densest mass, wi' an apparent regardlessness o' consequences which is most amazin, considerin the loss he sustained on a former occasion. Nay, not only is he doin this, but he is ostentatiously displayin a purse apparently as well filled as the last one. This does indeed seem the extreme o' folly. But it only seems so. It is not without a reason. Jock is not so unguarded as he appears. The truth is, he is just now practisin a ruse which he is not without hope may help him to the recovery o' his forty guineas.
The purse which Jock is so openly sportin is filled not with gold, but with copper. It contains, in short, instead o' guineas, a quantity of farthings, and is thus ostentatiously displayed in the hope of attractin the notice of the light-fingered gentleman who had relieved him on the former occasion—and with what promise o' success may be guessed frae the followin incident.