hall not men of the sword stick
together?"

"Nay, neighbour bonnet maker, be patient; thou mayst do the smith a kind
turn, an thou takest this matter the right way. I have chosen thee to
consult with anent this matter--not that I hold thee the wisest head in
Perth, for should I say so I should lie."

"Ay--ay," answered the self satisfied bonnet maker; "I know where you
think my fault lies: you cool heads think we hot heads are fools--I have
heard men call Henry Wynd such a score of times."

"Fool enough and cool enough may rhyme together passing well," said the
glover; "but thou art good natured, and I think lovest this crony of
thine. It stands awkwardly with us and him just now," continued Simon.
"Thou knowest there hath been some talk of marriage between my daughter
Catharine and Henry Gow?"

"I have heard some such song since St. Valentine's Morn. Ah! he that
shall win the Fair Maid of Perth must be a happy man; and yet marriage
spoils many a pretty fellow. I myself somewhat regret--"

"Prithee, truce with thy regrets for the present, man," interrupted the
glover, somewhat peevishly. "You must know, Oliver, that some of these
talking women, who I think make all the business of the world their
own, have accused Henry of keeping light company with glee women and
suchlike. Catharine took it to heart; and I held my child insulted, that
he had not waited upon her like a Valentine, but had thrown himself into
unseemly society on the very day when, by ancient custom, he might have
had an opportunity to press his interest with my daughter. Therefore,
when he came hither late on the evening of St. Valentine's, I, like a
hasty old fool, bid him go home to the company he had left, and denied
him admittance. I have not seen him since, and I begin to think that
I may have been too rash in the matter. She is my only child, and the
grave should have her sooner than a debauchee, But I have hitherto
thought I knew Henry Gow as if he were my son. I cannot think he would
use us thus, and it may be there are means of explaining what is laid
to his charge. I was led to ask Dwining, who is said to have saluted the
smith while he was walking with this choice mate. If I am to believe his
words, this wench was the smith's cousin, Joan Letham. But thou knowest
that the potter carrier ever speaks one language with his visage and
another with his tongue. Now, thou, Oliver, hast too little wit--I mean,
too much honesty--to belie the truth,