"Well well," said M'Taggart, soothing him, "go in and dress yourself, and make your mind easy; and the sooner we are away from here the better." John thought so too. He ran to the stable for his breachcan; [2] put on his best coat, kilt, and hose; tied up his only two shirts, and a spare pair of hose, in a napkin, and placed the bundle into the fold of his plaid; and then seizing a trusty old broad-sword, he put on his new Sunday's bonnet, smartly cocked up,--and he strode so erectly forth to M'Taggart, and with so martial an air, that, added to the wonderful change created in his personal appearance by his dress, made the captain hesitate for a moment in believing him to be the same man. "She be ready noo," said John; "put fare be ta rest o' ta men, Captain!" "They are hunting the Pensassenach," replied M'Taggart with a careless laugh. "She pe verra idle loons tan," said John, "for gin she wad seek a' tay she wad na' find her." And then, by way of diverting the Captain's attention from the search by a joke, he pointed to Morag, who stood at the door, weeping bitterly at the prospect of his departure, and added,--"see, tat pe ta Pensassenach." "That the Pensassenach!" said M'Taggart.--"That's a good joke truly. I know well enough that's not the Pensassenach that we are after." "She pe a verra ponny Pensassenach," said John, going up to Morag, and hastily delivering to her, in a Gaelic whisper, directions how and when she should relieve her mistress from her confinement, and also where she was to look for the packman, that she might get him taken out of the water. "That Pensassenach seems to be a favourite of yours, John," said the Captain. "She wunna say put she is," replied John, his heart filling a little with sympathy for Morag's tears, and at the prospect of leaving her.--"Petter tak tiss Pensassenach wi' huss,"--and then, rather as a parting word of kindness than anything else, he added, "will she go, Morag?"