"Ay, Davie, ye're a queer character," says he, when I had done: "a queer
bitch after a', and I have no mind of meeting with the like of ye. As
for your story, Prestongrange is a Whig like yoursel', so I'll say the
less of him; and, dod! I believe he was the best friend ye had, if ye
could only trust him. But Symon Fraser and James More are my ain kind of
cattle, and I'll give them the name that they deserve. The muckle black
de'il was father to the Frasers, a'body kens that; and as for the
Gregara, I never could abye the reek of them since I could stotter on
two feet. I bloodied the nose of one, I mind, when I was still so wambly
on my legs that I cowped upon the top of him. A proud man was my father
that day, God rest him! and I think he had the cause. I'll never can
deny but what Robin was something of a piper," he added; "but as for
James More, the de'il guide him for me!"

"One thing we have to consider," said I. "Was Charles Stewart right or
wrong? Is it only me they're after, or the pair of us?"

"And what's your ain opinion, you that's a man of so much experience?"
said he.

"It passes me," said I.

"And me too," says Alan. "Do ye think this lass would keep her word to
ye?" he asked.

"I do that," said I.

"Well, there's nae telling," said he. "And anyway, that's over and done:
he'll be joined to the rest of them lang syne."