"'Weary with the battle of the past day, a soldier was leaning against the wall, screwing a fresh flint into the lock of his musket. On seeing me move, he mercifully gave me a mouthful of water from his wooden canteen, and bound up my head with a shred torn from my plaid. I then begged him to help me a little way out of the field, as I was the sole support of an aged mother, and must live if possible. The good fellow said it was as much as his life was worth, were it known that he had spared mine; but as he, too, had an old mother in the lowlands far away, for her sake he would run the risk of assisting me. "'The morning was yet dark and we were unseen. He half carried, half dragged me for more than a mile, till we reached a thicket where I was in safety from the parties who were butchering the wounded. Some of these burned my mother's hut and bayonetted her on the threshold. "'I offered the soldier the tassels of my sporran or the silver buttons of my waistcoat as a reward, but he proudly refused them. I then pressed upon him my snuff-mull, on the lid of which my initials were engraved----' "'And he took it?' said I, eagerly. "'He did, but with reluctance; and then I asked his name, that I might remember it in my gratitude----' "'And he told you that he was John Girvan of Semple's Foot--the 25th,' said I. "'Yes--yes; but how know _you_ that?' "'Because that friendly soldier was _my father_. He served against the Prince at Culloden (_four_ Scotch regiments did so that day), and often have I heard him tell the story of how the mull came into his possession, and of the brave Highlander who adhered to old Keppoch when all the clans fell back before the mingled shock of horse and foot in front and flank!' "'Your father!--that brave man your father? I thank God who has thus enabled me to repay to you the good deed done to me on that dark morning on Culloden Moor,' said the Highlander with deep emotion, as he shook my hand with great warmth. "'Here is the mull,' said I, producing it, 'and you are welcome to a pinch from it again.' "'It is indeed like an old friend's face,' said he, looking with interest at his initials, D. McD., graven on the silver top. 'I made and mounted it, in my mother's hut in Croy. Woe is me! How many changes have I seen since that day thirty years ago, when last I held it in my hand? And your father, soldier--I hope that brave and good man yet lives?' "'Alas! no,' said I, sadly; 'he entered the Royals fifteen years after Culloden, and volunteered, as a serjeant, with the forlorn hope, at the storming of the Moro Castle. He fell in the breach, and the mull was found in his havresack by the men who buried him there.' "The Highlander took off his cap and muttered a prayer, crossing himself the while very devoutly.