“It’s been always my opinion that I would hang in a tow for this family of mine,” he cried, “and, dod! I believe the day’s come now! Get a ship for him, quot’ he! And who’s to pay for it? The man’s daft!” “That is my part of the affair, Mr. Stewart,” said I. “Here is a bag of good money, and if more be wanted, more is to be had where it came from.” “I needn’t ask your politics,” said he. “Ye need not,” said I, smiling, “for I’m as big a Whig as grows.” “Stop a bit, stop a bit,” says Mr. Stewart. “What’s all this? A Whig? Then why are you here with Alan’s button? and what kind of a black-foot traffic is this that I find ye out in, Mr. Whig? Here is a forfeited rebel and an accused murderer, with two hundred pounds on his life, and ye ask me to meddle in his business, and then tell me ye’re a Whig! I have no mind of any such Whigs before, though I’ve kent plenty of them.” “He’s a forfeited rebel, the more’s the pity,” said I, “for the man’s my friend. I can only wish he had been better guided. And an accused murderer, that he is too, for his misfortune; but wrongfully accused.” “I hear you say so,” said Stewart. “More than you are to hear me say so, before long,” said I. “Alan Breck is innocent, and so is James.” “Oh!” says he, “the two cases hang together. If Alan is out, James can never be in.” Hereupon I told him briefly of my acquaintance with Alan, of the accident that brought me present at the Appin murder, and the various passages of our escape among the heather, and my recovery of my estate. “So, sir, you have now the whole train of these events,” I went on, “and can see for yourself how I come to be so much mingled up with the affairs of your family and friends, which (for all of our sakes) I wish had been plainer and less bloody. You can see for yourself, too, that I have certain pieces of business depending, which were scarcely fit to lay before a lawyer chosen at random. No more remains, but to ask if you will undertake my service?” “I have no great mind to it; but coming as you do with Alan’s button, the choice is scarcely left me,” said he. “What are your instructions?” he added, and took up his pen. “The first point is to smuggle Alan forth of this country,” said I, “but I need not be repeating that.” “I am little likely to forget it,” said Stewart. “The next thing is the bit money I am owing to Cluny,” I went on. “It would be ill for me to find a conveyance, but that should be no stick to you. It was two pounds five shillings and three-halfpence farthing sterling.” He noted it. “Then,” said I, “there’s a Mr. Henderland, a licensed preacher and missionary in Ardgour, that I would like well to get some snuff into the hands of; and, as I daresay you keep touch with your friends in Appin (so near by), it’s a job you could doubtless overtake with the other.” “How much snuff are we to say?” he asked. “I was thinking of two pounds,” said I. “Two,” said he.