Clifford. – Stop one moment, Serjeant. See how the rain has made its way through the chinks of the window, and deluged the floor.
Serjeant. – Mercy on me, so it has, sir! Well, I’m sure it’s no wonder. Such a blast as that which is rairding without, would drive it through a stone wall.
Grant. – Call the girl from the kitchen, like a good man.
Serjeant. – Here, lassie! we’re like to be all drowned at this end of the house. Bring some cloths, will ye, and dish-clouts, and dry up this deluge here.
Lassie. – Keep us a’, siccan a sight! But we’re no one hair better in the other end o’ the house.
Clifford. – Aye, that’s a good girl. Now lay some of these cloths along the window here. Aye, that will do. I think that ought to make us water-tight. Now, heap some more wood and peats on the fire before you go. Thank ye – that’s glorious. Now, let the storm howl as it likes.
Grant. – Do go on with your story, Serjeant. You were interrupted in a most interesting part of it.
Clifford. – “Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks!” I beg your pardon, Serjeant; pray proceed.
Author. – Aye, pray do proceed. I am anxious to know what Sir Walter Stewart’s plans are, and how he succeeded in carrying them into effect. This part of the history is well known; but the minuter details are nowhere told in any book I am acquainted with, and I am curious to hear them.
Serjeant (taking a long draught from his punch-jug). – You shall be satisfied immediately, sir.
A job miserably done! They shall have to mop again. Methinks.