ook up and down the lane, and satisfy himself there
were no enemies in pursuit of the apprehensive fugitive. He secured his
door, therefore, and returned into the kitchen, displeased that he had
suffered his gloomy solitude to be intruded upon by sympathising with
apprehensions which he thought he might have known were so easily
excited as those of his timid townsman.

"How now!" he said, coldly enough, when he saw the bonnet maker calmly
seated by his hearth. "What foolish revel is this, Master Oliver? I see
no one near to harm you."

"Give me a drink, kind gossip," said Oliver: "I am choked with the haste
I have made to come hither."

"I have sworn," said Henry, "that this shall be no revel night in this
house: I am in my workday clothes, as you see, and keep fast, as I have
reason, instead of holiday. You have had wassail enough for the holiday
evening, for you speak thick already. If you wish more ale or wine you
must go elsewhere."

"I have had overmuch wassail already," said poor Oliver, "and have been
well nigh drowned in it. That accursed calabash! A draught of water,
kind gossip--you will not surely let me ask for that in vain? or, if it
is your will, a cup of cold small ale."

"Nay, if that be all," said Henry, "it shall not be lacking. But it must
have been much which brought thee to the pass of asking for either."

So saying, he filled a quart flagon from a barrel that stood nigh, and
presented it to his guest. Oliver eagerly accepted it, raised it to
his head with a trembling hand, imbibed the contents with lips which
quivered with emotion, and, though the potation was as thin as he had
requested, so much was he exhausted with the combined fears of alarm and
of former revelry, that, when he placed the flagon on the oak table, he
uttered a deep sigh of satisfaction, and remained silent.

"Well, now you have had your draught, gossip," said the smith, "what is
it you want? Where are those that threatened you? I could see no one."

"No--but there were twenty chased me into the wynd," said Oliver. "But
when they saw us together, you know they lost the courage that brought
all of them upon one of us."

"Nay, do not trifle, friend Oliver," replied his host; "my mood lies not
that way."

"I jest not, by St. John of Perth. I have been stayed and foully
outraged (gliding his hand sensitively over the place affected) by mad
David of Rothsay, roaring Ramorny, and the rest of them. They made me
drink a firki