"Sold you a bargain?" said Morton; "how do you mean?"
"Ou, they cam out to gather marts for the garrison," answered the housekeeper; "but they just fell to their auld trade, and rade through the country couping and selling a' that they gat, like sae mony west-country drovers. My certie, Major Bellenden was laird o' the least share o' what they lifted, though it was taen in his name."
"Then," said Morton, hastily, "the garrison must be straitened for provisions?"
"Stressed eneugh," replied Ailie—"there's little doubt o' that."
A light instantly glanced on Morton's mind.
"Burley must have deceived me—craft as well as cruelty is permitted by his creed." Such was his inward thought; he said aloud, "I cannot stay, Mrs Wilson, I must go forward directly."
"But, oh! bide to eat a mouthfu'," entreated the affectionate housekeeper, "and I'll mak it ready for you as I used to do afore thae sad days," "It is impossible," answered Morton.—"Cuddie, get our horses ready."
"They're just eating their corn," answered the attendant.
"Cuddie!" exclaimed Ailie; "what garr'd ye bring that ill-faur'd, unlucky loon alang wi' ye?—It was him and his randie mother began a' the mischief in this house."
"Tut, tut," replied Cuddie, "ye should forget and forgie, mistress. Mither's in Glasgow wi' her tittie, and sall plague ye nae mair; and I'm the Captain's wallie now, and I keep him tighter in thack and rape than ever ye did;—saw ye him ever sae weel put on as he is now?"