A STORY AND A SHELTER. "You would hear more of--Culloden?" began the fugitive. "Not from me! I headed a charge of foot under Lord George Murray on that fatal day. My men were cut to pieces before my eyes. I, after what last, desperate stand for liberty one arm could make against a score of the enemy, was taken prisoner in a ditch--in a ditch, like a fox or a badger!----" "But you escaped?" Andrew interrupted. "Ay, I escaped, after three days of starvation and brutality. The hand of God seemed to deliver me--I know not what else to call that series of events that saw me free and able to fly for my life. Favored again by a dozen happy occurrences I reached these mountains. They are swarming with gallant fellows as unlucky as myself. Now some brave Highlander sheltered me in his cottage; now I lay, night after night, in holes and caves, when the English troops who scout the hillsides for refugees came too close to my retreat. Some weeks ago I ventured to come westward, and Solomon McMucklestane, the old minister at Sheilar Kirk, received me into his manse. He hid me there, he, at the risk of his all. I have had a brief respite for rest and the regaining of my strength." "Have you been forced to turn from Sheilar also?" said Andrew, who listened with the deepest interest to the Jacobite's tale. "Yes. You have heard that Colonel Danforth has lately begun his searches in the neighborhood of Sheilar? It seems that he has lately got wind of the fact that the neighborhood hides one or two lurking Jacobites. My reverend host was warned upon Monday that he and his manse were suspected. I was obliged to be off again. On Tuesday night I quitted him, directed by him to your father, and expecting to reach your farm yesterday. I saw soldiery and abandoned the highway. My path of uncertainty over these wild slopes I quickly lost. With only glimpses of the pallid Loch yonder to guide me, I have wandered in desperation. I slept last night airily--in a stout yew. This evening the sound of your axe all at once caught my ear. I followed it. You can understand that I should think it best to study your face and appearance from the shelter of the thicket before advancing to a stranger. My excitement and fear of your observing me made me careless, I presume, for I did not notice how nearly your wooden King George was done for until too late to escape his clutches. (I hope it is not an omen.) Down came the oak, and I under it. "Such is my story, friend Andrew. I am glad to have found one from your household at last. You see before you," and Lord Geoffry again smiled bitterly, "no English spy--only a hunted, hiding follower of the Prince, come to beg for your father's and your pity, and to pray for shelter until escape from this dangerous region is possible. It has never seemed less so than now." Andrew could contain himself no longer.