Cinder Path Tales

CINDER-PATH TALES merry-making where Scotch whiskey and Scotch ale mingle freely. He wore the MacNab tartan,and the kilt looked as if it had been slept in, all twisted and wrinkled. As the clans marched up the hill and between thelions, Icould see the bright red tartans of the Erasers, the black and green of the Gordons, and the beautiful parti-colors of the Stewarts, There were many others, all showing brightin the sun; and there wasa lift to the heels of the marchers which noth­ ing could have caused but the shrill notes of the bagpipes. Indeed, they were enough to start the sluggish blood in my veins, though I suppose my ancestors had long years ago heard the same sounds with resentment, as the Scots swarmed over the border. As a parlor instrument I should admit ithad its superiors, but for strong men going tobattle Idoubt if it has its equal. There were all kinds of men in the crowd, from thegray-haired veteran to the little fel­ low, born on American soil, who had never seen the tartan kilts except on a holiday. There were a number of contestants in the line, with strong,athletic figures, but not one could compare withAngus, in the yellowand black of the MacLeods, as he marched, almost the last. I saw the girls had their eyes on him, thoughMac neither noticed nor cared,