The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1899-07-05
your inn, and / to my good dame, or
m a nj mr. xuin0 roava, I NAV Apd nnnH

master, or whomever / may find. Good
day, SIR"
Good Duncan McDougall, kirk officer
Of Ballantyne Parish and canniest OF
Scots. thotghtfully watched him spur
his horse on up another of the steep,
muddy little hills. with the stumbling
haste of an angry schoolboy. Society
on the road was pleasant-but per-
chance a dangerous pleasure, when you
knew not with whom you were rid
ing, and when your saddle-bags held
forty pounds Scots, in good gold, to buy
a set OF communion silver for the new
Ballantyne kirk. He had a trust, a
reputation, a life to guard. Yet
"Tushl could the fellow blush like Kit
ty herself. and yet harbor evil de-
signs?"
At rude table in the little howell up
the road Fitzroy sat glowering over
the extremely frugal fare brought him
by an old woman, gnarled Of face and
knotted of figure, to whose cackle he
paid no attention. 1--WE naught in my
purse to pay for this" he flung out fin
ally; NOR in my saddle-bags either"
The woman chuckled without glee.
yet there was gentleman came part
way with YOU" she observed. Look!
he climbs the hill now"
"And he travels armed" said Fitzroy
modify. my pistol dropped yester-
day from broken holster while ford
ed a stream. How do | know he car
ries aught worth killing a man for?"
by his travelling armed" concisely.
"Tut, Mr.. Fitzroy! Do you conceive,
sir, that because luck has hitherto been
with you in sending you towards and
unarmed travellers, who would willingly
give their purses to save their skins,
1t will be so always? Truly, sir, you
speak like"
"A coward" said Fitzroy. 81 am not
one, but"-his face clearing a little
"he who comes hther is a coward, and
l may get off without bloodshed, In
! faith, l was born a gentleman, and
even in battle, where man may kill
and not hang for it, there would always
come an uneasy voice between me and
my sword, that would sound like cry
of reproach from MY mother or sister.
| Yet | have not seen either of them
since l was lad of twenty How,
now sir" starting up as the shadow
Of man fell across the doorway. You
have changed your nind?"
81 come to crave your pardon, sir"
said Duncan McDougall. gravely. And
to eat supper with you, if this good wo-
man hath aught to give us. Pardon
my suspicious, and give me your COM
pany for the rest of the road, for, in
truth. | am afraid OF its loneliness"
Say no more" said Fitzroy with few
ersh eagerness, helping him dsmount.
1--WE will both eat and sleep here, and
the old woman shall stable your horse
where she hath taken mine"
| McDoughall started slightly as the
crone took the bride Her appearance
and that of the house, was unpreposses-
sing, and his Scotch cautions returned
on him.
He stood up rigidly while Fitzroy
opened his eyes in unfeigned surprise,
and loudly recited a long Presbyterian
grace. before he would take the seat in
Dictated for him.
"A man of religion!" exclaimed Fitz-
roy. He had not intended to say it
aloud; but the performance of so dis
! tinctly devotional an act in the pres
ence of stranger was as astounding to
| him as it was unremarkable to the
| Scotsman, who coplplacently replied
his mouth full of bread and cheese:
Officer of Ballantyne kirk, and a
man of peace towaId all.
Yet you travel armed" suggested
Fitzroy doubtfully.
"A commendable means of securing
peace, is it not, sir? l hear over-much
of these so-called gentlemen of the
road, who kill man in haste and dis
cover his poverty at leisure, to have a
mind to ride unprotected when | am
| travelling alone
Have you ever heard" asked Fitz-
roy, carelessly, "of one they call the
Irish Paddy. who hath been making
himself somewhat ofiicious in these
parts?" The Scotsman shook his
head. The slow-creeping twilight hit
the slow-creeping red in Fitzroy's face
as he said lightly:
"Oh, well, these gentry practice for
gain, rather than fame, so It's not sur
prising you should not have heard OF
him yet. Besides, he hath so far kept
his hands clean o, blood, they say
which saves a MAJ deal of notice
But may | ask. sir, why tbs you appear
to grudge these poor fellows the name
of gentleman, to which many of them
| by birth at least, are entitled?"
Because speakers utterance
was still rendered indistinct by vigor-
GUS mastication, while Fitzroy sat and
unhappily eyed his food-"being by
birth at least, personally disqualified
for that title, |, an honest man, be-
grudge it to a set of cowardly thieves
Twas long time since most of them
were born, and hold that their patent
OF gentility hath expired. After all
it's but bit of Judas work, betraying
their harmless fellows for a few filthy
coins. Pah! am q farmer, and work
in the dirt all day, but l would moi
touch such money"
Hold sr!" Grief Fitzroy impetuous-
ly, while the old woman frowned In
the background. You are harsh, me-
thinks. /, too, am honest, yet l have
the poor mans sympathy for him who
feels the world owes him a living and
the right to collect It,"
And l." disputed McDougall, "have
the poor mans sympathy for those
who, having by hard labor collected it.
desire to keep it. 'Tis natural. is il
not?"
you argue WELL sir; yet there is
something to say for the highwaymen
sometimes. Take the case of him
just spoke Of the Irishman they cal
Paddy of the Roads. 'Tis not a man