The Antiquary — Complete by Walter Scott (fun to read .txt) 📕

A table was quickly covered in the parlour, where the party sat joyously down to some refreshment. At the request of Oldbuck, Edie Ochiltree was permitted to sit by the sideboard in a great leathern chair, which was placed in some measure behind a screen.

“I accede to this the more readily,” said Sir Arthur, “because I remember in my fathers days that chair was occupied by Ailshie Gourlay, who, for aught I know, was the last privileged fool, or jester, maintained by any family of distinction in Scotland.”

“Aweel, Sir Arthur,” replied the beggar, who never hesitated an instant between his friend and his jest, “mony a wise man sits in a fule’s seat, and mony a fule in a wise man’s, especially in families o’ distinction.”

Miss Wardour, fearing the effect of this speech (however worthy of Ailsbie Gourlay, or any other privileged jester) upon the nerves of her father, hastened to inquire whether ale and beef should not be distributed to the servants and people whom the news had assembled round the Castle.

“Surely, my love,” said her father; “when was it ever otherwise in our families when a siege had been raised?”

“Ay, a siege laid by Saunders Sweepclean the bailiff, and raised by Edie Ochiltree the gaberlunzie, par nobile fratrum,” said Oldbuck, “and well pitted against each other in respectability. But never mind, Sir Arthur— these are such sieges and such reliefs as our time of day admits of—and our escape is not less worth commemorating in a glass of this excellent wine—Upon my credit, it is Burgundy, I think.”

“Were there anything better in the cellar,” said Miss Wardour, “it would be all too little to regale you after your friendly exertions.”

“Say you so?” said the Antiquary: “why, then, a cup of thanks to you, my fair enemy, and soon may you be besieged as ladies love best to be, and sign terms of capitulation in the chapel of Saint Winnox!”

Miss Wardour blushed—Hector coloured, and then grew pale.

Sir Arthur answered, “My daughter is much obliged to you, Monkbarns; but unless you’ll accept of her yourself, I really do not know where a poor knight’s daughter is to seek for an alliance in these mercenary times.”

“Me, mean ye, Sir Arthur? No, not I! I will claim privilege of the duello, and, as being unable to encounter my fair enemy myself, I will appear by my champion—But of this matter hereafter. What do you find in the papers there, Hector, that you hold your head down over them as if your nose were bleeding?”

“Nothing particular, sir; but only that, as my arm is now almost quite well, I think I shall relieve you of my company in a day or two, and go to Edinburgh. I see Major Neville is arrived there. I should like to see him.”

“Major whom?” said his uncle.

“Major Neville, sir,” answered the young soldier.

“And who the devil is Major Neville?” demanded the Antiquary.

“O, Mr. Oldbuck,” said Sir Arthur, “you must remember his name frequently in the newspapers—a very distinguished young officer indeed. But I am happy to say that Mr. M’Intyre need not leave Monkbarns to see him, for my son writes that the Major is to come with him to Knockwinnock, and I need not say how happy I shall be to make the young gentlemen acquainted,—unless, indeed, they are known to each other already.”

“No, not personally,” answered Hector, “but I have had occasion to hear a good deal of him, and we have several mutual friends—your son being one of them. But I must go to Edinburgh; for I see my uncle is beginning to grow tired of me, and I am afraid”—

“That you will grow tired of him?” interrupted Oldbuck,—“I fear that’s past praying for. But you have forgotten that the ecstatic twelfth of August approaches, and that you are engaged to meet one of Lord Glenallan’s gamekeepers, God knows where, to persecute the peaceful feathered creation.”

“True, true, uncle—I had forgot that,” exclaimed the volatile Hector; “but you said something just now that put everything out of my head.”

“An it like your honours,” said old Edie, thrusting his white head from behind the screen, where he had been plentifully regaling himself with ale and cold meat—“an it like your honours, I can tell ye something that will keep the Captain wi’ us amaist as weel as the pouting—Hear ye na the French are coming?”

“The French, you blockhead?” answered Oldbuck—“Bah!”

“I have not had time,” said Sir Arthur Wardour, “to look over my lieutenancy correspondence for the week—indeed, I generally make a rule to read it only on Wednesdays, except in pressing cases,—for I do everything by method; but from the glance I took of my letters, I observed some alarm was entertained.”

“Alarm?” said Edie, “troth there’s alarm, for the provost’s gar’d the beacon light on the Halket-head be sorted up (that suld hae been sorted half a year syne) in an unco hurry, and the council hae named nae less a man than auld Caxon himsell to watch the light. Some say it was out o’ compliment to Lieutenant Taffril,—for it’s neist to certain that he’ll marry Jenny Caxon,—some say it’s to please your honour and Monkbarns that wear wigs—and some say there’s some auld story about a periwig that ane o’ the bailies got and neer paid for—Onyway, there he is, sitting cockit up like a skart upon the tap o’ the craig, to skirl when foul weather comes.”

“On mine honour, a pretty warder,” said Monkbarns; “and what’s my wig to do all the while?”

“I asked Caxon that very question,” answered Ochiltree, “and he said he could look in ilka morning, and gie’t a touch afore he gaed to his bed, for there’s another man to watch in the day-time, and Caxon says he’ll friz your honour’s wig as weel sleeping as wauking.”

This news gave a different turn to the conversation, which ran upon national defence, and the duty of fighting for the land we live in, until it was time to part. The Antiquary and his nephew resumed their walk homeward, after parting from Knockwinnock with the warmest expressions of mutual regard, and an agreement to meet again as soon as possible.