Only, when I came to mention that good friend of mine, Mr.Campbell the minister, Alan fired up and cried out that he hated all that were of that name.
"Why," said I, "he is a man you should be proud to give your hand to." "I know nothing I would help a Campbell to," says he, "unless it was a leaden bullet.

I would hunt all of that name like blackcocks.

If I lay dying, I would crawl upon my knees to my chamber window for a shot at one." "Why, Alan," I cried, "what ails ye at the Campbells ?" "Well," says he, "ye ken very well that I am an Appin Stewart, and the Campbells have long harried and wasted those of my name; ay, and got lands of us by treachery--but never with the sword," he cried loudly, and with the word brought down his fist upon the table.

But I paid the less attention to this, for I knew it was usually said by those who have the underhand.

"There's more than that," he continued, "and all in the same story: lying words, lying papers, tricks fit for a peddler, and the show of what's legal over all, to make a man the more angry." "You that are so wasteful of your buttons," said I, "I can hardly think you would be a good judge of business." "Ah!" says he, falling again to smiling, "I got my wastefulness from the same man I got the buttons from; and that was my poor father, Duncan Stewart, grace be to him! He was the prettiest man of his kindred; and the best swordsman in the Hielands, David, and that is the same as to say, in all the world, I should ken, for it was him that taught me.
He was in the Black Watch, when first it was mustered; and, like other gentlemen privates, had a gillie at his back to carry his firelock for him on the march.