Mr. Mackenzie,
at this time in the seventy-sixth year of his age, with a
white hat turned up with green, green spectacles, green
jacket, and long brown leather gaiters buttoned upon his
nether anatomy, wore a dog-whistle round his neck, and had
all over the air of as resolute a devotee as the gay captain
of Huntly Burn. Tom Purdie and his subalterns had preceded
us by a few hours with all the greyhounds that could be
collected at Abbotsford, Darnick, and Melrose; but the giant
Maida had remained as his master's orderly, and now
gambolled about Sibyl Grey, barking for mere joy, like a
spaniel puppy.
"The order of march had been all settled, and the sociable
was just getting under weigh, when _the Lady Anne_ broke
from the line, screaming with laughter, and exclaimed,
'Papa! papa! I know you could never think of going without
your pet.' Scott looked round, and I rather think there was
a blush as well as a smile upon his face, when he perceived
a little black pig frisking about his pony, and evidently a
self-elected addition to the party of the day.
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