"I can manage the trooper weel eneugh," she said, "for as rough as he is—I ken their nature weel; but ye maunna say a single word."
She accordingly opened the door of the gallery just as the centinel had turned his back from it, and, taking up the tune which he hummed, she sung in a coquettish tone of rustic raillery,
"If I were to follow a poor sodger lad,
My friends wad be angry, my minnie be mad;
A laird, or a lord, they were fitter for me,
Sae I'll never be fain to follow thee."———
"A fair challenge, by Jove," cried the centinel, turning round, "and from two at once, but it's not easy to bang the soldier with his bandeliers;" then taking up the song where the damsel had stopt,
"To follow me ye weel may be glad,
A share of my supper, a share of my bed,
To the sound of the drum to range fearless and free,
I'll gar ye be fain to follow me."———
