"Well, sir, as I was saying--though, mind you, I’m not ashamed of being a Dissenter, and, I houp, a Christian too--Adam was our sergeant; and a worthier man never shouldered a bayonet. He was nae great speaker, and was quiet as his gun when piled; but when he shot, he shot! that did he, short and pithy, a crack, and right into the argument. He was weel respeckit, for he was just and mercifu’--never bothered the men, and never picked oot fauts, but covered them; never preached, but could gie an advice in two or three words that gripped firm aboot the heart, and took the breath frae ye. He was extraordinar’ brave! If there was any work to do by ordinar’, up to leading a forlorn hope, Adam was sure to be on’t; and them that kent him even better than I did then, said that he never got courage frae brandy, but, as they assured me, though ye’ll maybe no’ believe it, his preparation was a prayer! I canna tell hoo they fan’ this oot, for Adam was unco quiet; but they say a drummer catched him on his knees afore he mounted the ladder wi’ Cansh at the siege o’ Badajoz, and that Adam telt him no’ to say a word aboot it, but yet to tak’ his advice and aye to seek God’s help mair than man’s." This narrative interested me much, so that I remembered its facts, and connected them with what I afterwards heard about Adam Mercer many years ago, when on a visit to Drumsylie. CHAPTER II THE ELDER AND HIS STARLING When Adam Mercer returned from the wars, more than half a century ago, he settled in the village of Drumsylie, situated in a county bordering on the Highlands, and about twenty miles from the scene of his poaching habits, of which he had long ago repented. His hot young blood had been cooled down by hard service, and his vehement temperament subdued by military discipline; but there remained an admirable mixture in him of deepest feeling, regulated by habitual self-restraint, and expressed in a manner outwardly calm but not cold, undemonstrative but not unkind. His whole bearing was that of a man accustomed at once to command and to obey. Corporal Dick had not formed a wrong estimate of his Christianity. The lessons taught by his mother, whom he fondly loved, and whom he had in her widowhood supported to the utmost of his means from pay and prize-money, and her example of a simple, cheerful, and true life, had sunk deeper than he knew into his heart, and, taking root, had sprung up amidst the stormy scenes of war, bringing forth the fruits of stern self-denial and moral courage tempered by strong social affections.