"I commend your prudence, but it is unnecessary; I know you acted upon that occasion as servant to Henry Morton."
"Ay!" said Cuddie, in surprise, "how came ye by that secret?—No that I need care a bodle about it, for the sun's on our side o' the hedge now. I wish my master were living to get a blink o't."
"And what became of him?" said the rider.
"He was lost in the vessel gaun to that weary Holland—clean lost—and a' body perished, and my poor master amang them. Neither man nor mouse was ever heard o' mair." Then Cuddie uttered a groan.
"You had some regard for him, then?" continued the stranger.
"How could I help it?—His face was made of a fiddle, as they say, for a' body that looked on him liked him. And a braw soldier he was. O, an' ye had but seen him down at the brigg there, fleeing about like a fleeing dragon to gar folk
