“Katie, you forget who’s beside you,” said Lady Anne.
“Oh! ne’er mind me, my lady; I’m used to argue wi’ her; but if I did fecht for the Chevalier—ay, ye may ca’ him sae!—was it no your ain very sel, Katie Stewart, that tellt me, nae later than yestreen, that chivalry meant the auld grand knights that fought for the distressed lang syne? And if I did fecht for the Prince, what should ail me? And if it was the will of Providence to make me strong and muckle, and you bonnie and wee, whase blame was that? The Chevalier! Ay, and blessings on him!—for isna he just in the way of the auld chivalry—and isna he gaun to deliver the distressed?”
“The way the King did in the persecuting times—him that shot them down like beasts, because they liket the kirk,” said Katie.
“Eh, ye little Whig! that I should say sae! But I have nae call to stand up for the auld kings—they’ve gaen to their place, and rendered their account; but this bonnie lad—for a bonnie lad he is, though he’s born a prince, and will dee a great king, as it’s my hope and desire—has nae blame of thae ill deeds. He’s come for his ain kingdom, and justice, and the rights of the nation, ‘and ilka man shall hae his ain.’”
“But wha’s wronged, Bauby?” asked the unbeliever.
“Wha’s wronged? Isna the nation wronged wi’ a bit German duke pitten down in the big seat of our native king? Isna a’body wronged that has to suffer that? And isna he coming with his white cockade to set a’thing right again?”
“Bauby, you forget we’re to leave Kellie at twelve,” said Lady Anne, interrupting this conclusive logic, “and the things are not all ready. We’ll hear the true news about the Prince in Edinburgh.”
“We’ll see him, bless him! for he’s marching on Edinburgh, driving a’ thae cowards before him like a wheen sheep,” said Bauby, triumphantly. “I couldna keep the guid news to mysel, my lady; but now I maun awa.”
And Bauby hastened from the room, letting her voice rise as she went through the gallery, enough to convey to Katie’s ear her wish—
“To see guid corn upon the rigs,