Nashon smiled at the idea of borrowing a pair of boots; but pride had not yet in him attained that height which enables its votaries to look down with contempt on the obligation of a loan, and he chose to sport Squire Hawthorn’s boots and Squire Græme’s horse in the meantime, to gratify an object which would require still greater sacrifices. Next day, accordingly, he appeared at the rendezvous, where he in a short time was accosted by Eyrymount, who was accompanied by the proprietor of the under part of the neophyte’s habiliments. “You will find this sport better than cony-hunting, Mr Heatherton,” said Eyrymount, laughing. “Ou ay,” replied Nashon; “but I fear it’s mair expensive. I may become owre fond o’t, an’ the rents of Outfieldhaugh may scarcely haud agen the expense.” “You cannot complain yet,” said Eyrymount, looking significantly at Springall. “I should think not,” said Squire Hawthorn, looking as significantly at the boots. “No,” replied Nashon, drawing up his leg a little, but immediately throwing it down again, with a jerk of the stirrup—“but I ken my weakness. I had nae less than nine terriers, ance, at Conybarns—a perfect pack; an’ I wadna wonder to see me hae as mony fox-hounds—ay, an’ maybe as mony hunters. I fear, Eyrymount, I maun lay a’ that cost at your door.” “There’s no sound on earth like the tally-ho!” cried Eyrymount, delighted with Nashon’s views, which seemed to coincide so well with his own. “You will be a true son of Nimrod, an’ may carry away the gree of the hunting-cup of the southern sept of the Græmes.” “I like baith the drinkin-horn an’ the tootin-horn,” said Nashon; “an’ will empty the ane an’ fill the other as weel’s ony fox-hunter i’ the kingdom.” “Bravo! I have not been mistaken in you,” cried Græme. “The grey lark flees highest o’ a’ the singin’ tribe,” replied Nashon; “an’ the bright gooldie the lowest. Ye canna ken a man frae his coat, ony mair than ye can tell whether a cat is a guid hunter frae the colour o’ her skin.” “You are right,” said Squire Hawthorn; “neither can you know a man from his boots.” “If they’re borrowed, ye can say that he’s a cautious, savin chiel wha wears them,” replied Nashon; “but, if they’re bought an’ no paid,” with a significant look at Hawthorn, who was known to be deep in debt, “ye can say he’s an ass. Is the horn no sounded yet? I’m keen to set aff. My bluid’s getting warm wi’ the thought a’ the throw aff an’ the hark on. Ho! he! ho! tantivy! tantivy!” And Nashon cracked his whip as he thus emulated, by a loud bellow, the spirit of the huntsman.