"Do not think so," replied the armourer: "he saw two men and fled, and
who can tell whether he fled for one or the other? Besides, he knows
by experience your strength and activity: we all saw how you kicked and
struggled when you were on the ground."

"Did I?" said poor Proudfute. "I do not remember it, but I know it is my
best point: I am a strong dog in the loins. But did they all see it?"

"All as much as I," said the smith, smothering an inclination to
laughter.

"But thou wilt remind them of it?"

"Be assured I will," answered Henry, "and of thy desperate rally even
now. Mark what I say to Bailie Craigdallie, and make the best of it."

"It is not that I require any evidence in thy favour, for I am as brave
by nature as most men in Perth; but only--" Here the man of valour
paused.

"But only what?" inquired the stout armourer.

"But only I am afraid of being killed. To leave my pretty wife and my
young family, you know, would be a sad change, Smith. You will know this
when it is your own case, and will feel abated in courage."

"It is like that I may," said the armourer, musing.

"Then I am so accustomed to the use of arms, and so well breathed, that
few men can match me. It's all here," said the little man, expanding his
breast like a trussed fowl, and patting himself with his hands--"here is
room for all the wind machinery."

"I dare say you are long breathed--long winded; at least your speech
bewrays--"

"My speech! You are a wag--But I have got the stern post of a dromond
brought up the river from Dundee."

"The stern post of a Drummond!" exclaimed the armourer; "conscience,
man, it will put you in feud with the whole clan--not the least wrathful
in the country, as I take it."

"St. Andrew, man, you put me out! I mean a dromond--that is, a large
ship. I have fixed this post in my yard, and had it painted and carved
something like a soldan or Saracen, and with him I breathe myself, and
will wield my two handed sword against him, thrust or point, for an hour
together."

"That must make you familiar with the use of your weapon," said the
smith.

"Ay, marry does it; and sometimes I will place you a bonnet--an old one,
most likely--on my soldan's head, and cleave it with such a downright
blow that in troth, the infidel has but little of his skull remaining to
hit at."

"That is unlucky, for you will lose your practice," said Henry. "But how
say you, bonnet maker? I will put on my head piece an