I Didn't Pay Any Attention To This, And After Going To The Window And
Looking Out At The Gaelic Moon, Which Was About Half Full And Rolling
Along Among The Clouds, I Turned To Jone And Said, "Jone, Let's Sing
'Scots Wha Ha',' Before We Go To Bed."
"If we do roar out that thing," said Jone, "they will put us out on the
curbstone to spend the rest of the night."
"Let's whisper it, then," said I; "the spirit of it is all I want. I
don't care for the loudness."
"I'd be willing to do that," said Jone, "if I knew the tune and a few
of the words."
"Oh, bother!" said I; and when I got into bed I drew the clothes over
my head and sang that brave song all to myself. Doing it that way the
words and tune didn't matter at all, but I felt the spirit of it, and
that was all I wanted, and then I went to sleep.
The next morning we went to Callander by train, and there we took a
coach for Trossachs. It is hardly worth while to say we went on top,
because the coaches here haven't any inside to them, except a hole
where they put the baggage. We drove along a beautiful road with
mountains and vales and streams, and the driver told us the name of
everything that had a name, which he couldn't help very well, being
asked so constant by me.
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