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.