another
stout fellow, who came in about the same time, they had broken into
Simon Glover's house, cut his throat, and carried his daughter off
to the mountains. It is too evil usage--not to be suffered, neighbour
Crookshank; not to be endured, neighbour Glass; not to be borne,
neighbours Balneaves, Rollock, and Chrysteson. It was a mercy that I
and that stout fellow came in, was it not, neighbour and worthy Bailie
Craigdallie?"

These speeches were dispersed by the busy bonnet maker into sundry ears.
Bailie Craigdallie, a portly guild brother, the same who had advised the
prorogation of their civic council to the present place and hour, a big,
burly, good looking man, shook the deacon from his cloak with pretty
much the grace with which a large horse shrugs off the importunate
fly that has beset him for ten minutes, and exclaimed, "Silence, good
citizens; here comes Simon Glover, in whom no man ever saw falsehood. We
will hear the outrage from his own mouth."

Simon being called upon to tell his tale, did so with obvious
embarrassment, which he imputed to a reluctance that the burgh should
be put in deadly feud with any one upon his account. It was, he dared to
say, a masking or revel on the part of the young gallants about court;
and the worst that might come of it would be, that he would put iron
stanchions on his daughter's window, in case of such another frolic.

"Why, then, if this was a mere masking or mummery," said Craigdallie,
"our townsman, Harry of the Wind, did far wrong to cut off a gentleman's
hand for such a harmless pleasantry, and the town may be brought to a
heavy fine for it, unless we secure the person of the mutilator."

"Our Lady forbid!" said the glover. "Did you know what I do, you would
be as much afraid of handling this matter as if it were glowing iron.
But, since you will needs put your fingers in the fire, truth must be
spoken. And come what will, I must say, that the matter might have ended
ill for me and mine, but for the opportune assistance of Henry Gow, the
armourer, well known to you all."

"And mine also was not awanting," said Oliver Proudfute, "though I do
not profess to be utterly so good a swordsman as our neighbour Henry
Gow. You saw me, neighbour Glover, at the beginning of the fray?"

"I saw you after the end of it, neighbour," answered the glover, drily.

"True--true; I had forgot you were in your house while the blows were
going, and could not survey who were dealing