human
Um! ay! we aye hae sodgers amang us, mair or less. There's a wheen German horse down at Glasgow yonder; they ca' their commander Wittybody, or some sic name, though he's as grave and grewsome an auld Dutchman as e'er I saw.
gpt
Wittenbold, perhaps? said Morton,--
human
And smokes for ever, replied Niel Blane.
gpt
I see your honour kens the man. He may be a very gude man too, for aught I see,--that is, considering he is a sodger and a Dutchman; but if he were ten generals, and as mony Wittybodies, he has nae skill in the pipes; he gar'd me stop in the middle of Torphichen's Rant,--the best piece o' music that ever bag gae wind to.
human
Na, na, these are Scotch dragoons, said mine host,--
gpt
Is there not a report of his death?
human
Troth is there, said the landlord;
gpt
Whether Blane knew a woman in that neighbourhood called Elizabeth Maclure?
human
Whether I ken Bessie Maclure? answered the landlord, with a landlord's laugh,--
gpt
How can I but ken my ain wife's (haly be her rest!)--my ain wife's first gudeman's sister, Bessie Maclure? An honest wife she is, but sair she's been trysted wi' misfortunes,--the loss o' twa decent lads o' sons, in the time o' the persecution, as they ca' it nowadays; and doucely and decently she has borne her burden, blaming nane and condemning nane. If there's an honest woman in the world, it's Bessie Maclure. And to lose her twa sons, as I was saying, and to hae dragoons clinked down on her for a month bypast,--for, be Whig or Tory uppermost, they aye quarter thae loons on victuallers,--to lose, as I was saying--
human
This woman keeps an inn, then?
gpt
A public, in a puir way, replied Blane, looking round at his own superior accommodations,--
human
Can you get me a guide there?
gpt
Your honour will rest here a' the night? Ye'll hardly get accommodation at Bessie's,
human
There is a friend, answered Morton,
gpt
Your honour had better, answerd the landlord, with the perseverance of his calling,
human
I tell you, landlord, answered Morton, impatiently,
gpt
Aweel, sir, ye'll choose for yoursell, to be sure, said Niel Blane, somewhat disconcerted;
human
Here, he said to himself,