“What the deil’s your business wi’ that?” said Hackit. “I ken him, an’ that’s eneuch.”
“But I am strong in spirit,” muttered the Covenanter.
“The toom bottles testify that, to a certainty, Tammas,” said the other. “But, never mind; get anither stoup, Geordie, an’ sit down, Master Basil.”
“Blithely,” said Geordie; “and troth, Master Rolland, I didna ken it was you, or I wudna hae handled you sae roughly. But sit down, for it’s a coarse night.”
“I may not,” said Basil. “I must to the camp. But why do I find you here?”
“Ou,” said Hackit, “ye see Geordie and me belangs to Aboyne, for the provost sent a’ his servants to him. We’re upon the watch the night, ye maun ken. But wha, i’ the name of the seventy disciples, could stand thereout in a night like this? Sae we made up to the Covenanters’ warders, and met in wi’ Tammas there, an auld acquaintance; and we thought it best to come here and keep ourselves warm wi’ sic liquor as we could get, and let the camps watch themselves.”
“Do you know that you all expose yourselves to death for this frolic?”
“There gang twa words to that bargain. We’ve done a’ that could be reasonably expected,—we watched till the storm came.”
“Well, you are not accountable to me; I must depart.”
“Weel, a gude evening to you. But stop!—now that I mind—ye maun gie me the pass-word.”