There
was a great noise within: he paused to listen. A round English oath or
two, and the burden of a campaign song, convinced him the hamlet also
was occupied by the Duke of Cumberland's soldiers. Endeavouring to
retire from it as softly as possible, and blessing the obscurity which
hitherto he had murmured against, Waverley groped his way the best he
could along a small paling, which seemed the boundary of some
cottage garden. As he reached the gate of this little enclosure, his
outstretched hand was grasped by that of a female, whose voice at the
same time uttered, 'Edward, is't thou, man?'
'Here is some unlucky mistake,' thought Edward, struggling, but gently,
to disengage himself.
'Naen o' thy foun, now; man, or the red cwoats will hear thee; they hae
been houlerying and poulerying every ane that past alehouse door
this noight to make them drive their wagons and sick loike. Come into
feyther's, or they'll do ho a mischief.'
'A good hint,' thought Waverley, following the girl through the little
garden into a brick-paved kitchen, where she set herself to kindle a
match at an expiring fire, and with the match to light a candle. She
had no sooner looked on Edward than she dropped the light, with a shrill
scream of 'O feyther! feyther!'
The father, thus invoked, speedily appeared, a sturdy old farmer, in a
pair of leather breeches, and boots pulled on without stockings,
having just started from his bed;--the rest of his dress was only a
Westmoreland statesman's robe-de-chambre,--that is, his shirt.
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