THE LAST JACOBITE RISING On the evening of the Queen's birthday, bridies were eaten to her honor in a hundred Thrums homes, and her health was drunk in toddy, Scotch toddy and Highland toddy.

Patullo, the writer, gave a men's party, and his sole instructions to his maid were "Keep running back and forrit wi' the hot water." At the bank there was a ladies' party and ginger wine.
From Cathro's bedroom-window a flag was displayed with _Vivat Regina_ on it, the sentiment composed by Cathro, the words sewn by the girls of his McCulloch class.

The eight-o'clock bell rang for an hour, and a loyal crowd had gathered in the square to shout.

To a superficial observer, such as the Baron Bailie or Todd, the new policeman, all seemed well and fair.
But a very different scene was being enacted at the same time in the fastnesses of the Den, where three resolute schemers had met by appointment.

Their trysting-place was the Cuttle Well, which is most easily reached by the pink path made for that purpose; but the better to further their dark and sinister design, the plotters arrived by three circuitous routes, one descending the Reekie Broth Pot, a low but dangerous waterfall, the second daring the perils of the crags, and the third walking stealthily up the burn.
"Is that you, Tommy ?" "Whist! Do you mind the password ?" "Stroke!" "Right.