"Ah!" cried the boy; his eyes were burning.
"Well, and here is the point," I continued. "Sir Thomas fed the Major from his own table from that day, and served him with six covers."
"Yes, it is a beautiful--a beautiful story," said Ronald. "And yet somehow it is not the same--is it?"
The boy stood a while brooding. "Well, I take my risk of it," he cried. "I believe it's treason to my sovereign--I believe there is an infamous punishment for such a crime--and yet I'm hanged if I can give you up."
I was as much moved as he. "I could almost beg you to do otherwise," I said. "I was a brute to come to you, a brute and a coward. You are a noble enemy; you will make a noble soldier." And with rather a happy idea of a compliment for this warlike youth, I stood up straight and gave him the salute.
He was for a moment confused; his face flushed. "Well, well, I must be getting you something to eat, but it will not be for six," he added, with a smile; "only what we can get smuggled out. There is my aunt in the road, you see," and he locked me in again with the indignant hens.
I always smile when I recall that young fellow; and yet, if the reader were to smile also, I should feel ashamed. If my son shall be only like him when he comes to that age, it will be a brave day for me and not a bad one for his country.
At the same time I cannot pretend that I was sorry when his sister succeeded in his place. She brought me a few crusts of bread and a jug of milk, which she had handsomely laced with whisky after the Scottish manner.
"I am so sorry," she said: "I dared not bring you anything more. We are so small a family, and my aunt keeps such an eye upon the servants. I have put some whisky in the milk--it is more wholesome so--and with eggs you will be able to make something of a meal. How many eggs will you be wanting to that milk? for I must be taking the others to my aunt--that is my excuse for being here. I should think three or four. Do you know how to beat them in? or shall I do it?"
Willing to detain her a while longer in the hen-house, I displayed my bleeding palms; at which she cried out aloud.
"My dear Miss Flora, you cannot make an omelette without breaking eggs," said I; "and it is no bagatelle to escape from Edinburgh Castle. One of us, I think, was even killed."