e and form lay
any appearance of the menaced danger; and his examination reassuring
him, he answered boldly: "Blades and bucklers, man, I would stand the
feud of a dozen such as Dwining. What could he do to any man with blood
in his veins?"
"He could give him a dose of physic," answered the smith drily.
They had no time for further colloquy, for Bailie Craigdallie called to
them to take the road to Kinfauns, and himself showed the example. As
they advanced at a leisurely pace, the discourse turned on the reception
which they were to expect from their provost, and the interest which
he was likely to take in the aggression which they complained of. The
glover seemed particularly desponding, and talked more than once in
a manner which implied a wish that they would yet consent to let the
matter rest. He did not speak out very plainly, however, fearful,
perhaps, of the malignant interpretation which might be derived from
any appearance of his flinching from the assertion of his daughter's
reputation. Dwining seemed to agree with him in opinion, but spoke more
cautiously than in the morning.
"After all," said the bailie, "when I think of all the propines and
good gifts which have passed from the good town to my Lord Provost's,
I cannot think he will be backward to show himself. More than one lusty
boat, laden with Bordeaux wine, has left the South Shore to discharge
its burden under the Castle of Kinfauns. I have some right to speak of
that, who was the merchant importer."
"And," said Dwining, with his squeaking voice, "I could speak of
delicate confections, curious comfits, loaves of wastel bread, and even
cakes of that rare and delicious condiment which men call sugar, that
have gone thither to help out a bridal banquet, or a kirstening feast,
or suchlike. But, alack, Bailie Craigdallie, wine is drunk, comfits are
eaten, and the gift is forgotten when the flavour is past away. Alas!
neighbour, the banquet of last Christmas is gone like the last year's
snow."
"But there have been gloves full of gold pieces," said the magistrate.
"I should know that who wrought them," said Simon, whose professional
recollections still mingled with whatever else might occupy his mind.
"One was a hawking glove for my lady. I made it something wide. Her
ladyship found no fault, in consideration of the intended lining."
"Well, go to," said Bailie Craigdallie, "the less I lie; and if these
are not to the fore, it is the provost's f
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