CHAPTER XXVII
I COME TO MR. RANKEILLOR
The next day it was agreed that Alan should fend for himself tillsunset; but as soon as it began to grow dark, he should lie in thefields by the roadside near to Newhalls, and stir for naught until heheard me whistling. At first I proposed I should give him for a signalthe "Bonnie House of Airlie," which was a favourite of mine; but heobjected that as the piece was very commonly known, any ploughman mightwhistle it by accident; and taught me instead a little fragment of aHighland air, which has run in my head from that day to this, and willlikely run in my head when I lie dying. Every time it comes to me, ittakes me off to that last day of my uncertainty, with Alan sitting up inthe bottom of the den, whistling and beating the measure with a finger,and the grey of the dawn coming on his face.
I was in the long street of Queensferry before the sun was up. It was afairly built burgh, the houses of good stone, many slated; the town-hallnot so fine, I thought, as that of Peebles, nor yet the street so noble;but take it altogether, it put me to shame for my foul tatters.