HE was not a bustling active gauger, nor did he love to put himself foremost in adventures which he knew would end in distress to many. One clear moonlight morning, on being awakened by the clang of horses at a gallop, he started up, looked out at the window, and to his wife, who asked eagerly what it was, he whispered:-
“It is smugglers, Jean.”
“Robert, then I fear ye’ll be to follow them?” she said:-
“And so I would,” he answered, “were it Will Gunnion or Edgar Wright; but it’s poor Brandyburn, who has a wife and three weans, and is no doing owre weel in his farm. What can I do?”
She pulled him in from the window.
