Davie Gellatley was also seen in the group, idle as Diogenes at Sinope, while his countrymen were preparing for a siege.

His spirits always rose with anything, good or bad, which occasioned tumult, and he continued frisking, hopping, dancing, and singing the burden of an old ballad, Our gear's a' gane, until, happening to pass too near the Bailie, he received an admonitory hint from his horsewhip, which converted his songs into lamentation.
Passing from thence towards the garden, Waverley beheld the Baron in person, measuring and re-measuring, with swift and tremendous strides, the length of the terrace; his countenance clouded with offended pride and indignation, and the whole of his demeanour such as seemed to indicate, that any inquiry concerning the cause of his discomposure would give pain at least, if not offence.

Waverley therefore glided into the house, without addressing him, and took his way to the breakfast parlour, where he found his young friend Rose, who, though she neither exhibited the resentment of her father, the turbid importance of Bailie Macwheeble, nor the despair of the hand-maidens, seemed vexed and thoughtful.

A single word explained the mystery.

'Your breakfast will be a disturbed one, Captain Waverley, A party of Caterans have come down upon us, last night, and have driven off all our milch cows.' 'A party of Caterans ?' 'Yes; robbers from the neighbouring Highlands.