I know not by what happy fortune I came close to the leader of the procession, but he saw something in my old rough features that declared me an honest Scot.

'Friend,' whispered he, 'for charity conduct us to some safe place where we may withdraw this bier from the sacrilegious eye of curiosity.' "I made no hesitation, but desired the train to follow me into a byre belonging to the good shepherd who was my host.

On this motion the common people went away, and the monks entered the place.
"When the travelers threw up their hoods, which as mourners they had worn over their faces, I could not help exclaiming, 'Alas, for the glory of Scotland, that this goodly group of stout young men rather wear the cowl than the helmet!' 'How!' asked their principal (who did not appear to have seen thirty years), 'do we not pray for the glory of Scotland?
Such is our weapon.' 'True,' replied I, 'but while Moses prayed Joshua fought.

God gives the means of glory that they should be used.' 'But for what, old veteran,' said the monk, with a penetrating look, 'should we exchange our cowl for the helmet?
knowest thou anything of the Joshua who would lead us to the field ?' There was something in the young priest's eyes that seemed to contradict his pacific words; they flashed as impetuous fire.

My reply was short: 'Are you a Scot ?' 'I am, in soul and in arms.' 'Then knowest thou not the chief of Ellerslie ?' As I spoke, for I stood close to the bier, I perceived the pall shake.