In the meanwhile Mr. Ireby found some amusement in detaining the
northern drover at his ancient hall. He caused a cold round of
beef to be placed before the Scot in the butler's pantry,
together with a foaming tankard of home-brewed, and took pleasure
in seeing the hearty appetite with which these unwonted edibles
were discussed by Robin Oig M'Combich. The Squire himself
lighting his pipe, compounded between his patrician dignity and
his love of agricultural gossip, by walking up and down while he
conversed with his guest.
"I passed another drove," said the Squire, with one of your
countrymen behind them. They were something less beasts than
your drove--doddies most of them. A big man was with them. None
of your kilts, though, but a decent pair of breeches. D'ye know
who he may be?"
"Hout aye; that might, could, and would be Hughie Morrison. I
didna think he could hae peen sae weel up. He has made a day on
us; but his Argyleshires will have wearied shanks. How far was
he pehind?"
"I think about six or seven miles," answered the Squire, "for I
passed them at the Christenbury Crag, and I overtook you at the
Hollan Bush.
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