Did he not lend to those who wanted, stand by his neighbours as
a friend, keep counsel and do justice like a magistrate?"

"It is true--it is true," answered the assembly; "his blood is our blood
as much as if it were Henry Gow's."

"You speak truth, neighbours," said Bailie Craigdallie; "and this feud
cannot be patched up as the former was: citizen's blood must not flow
unavenged down our kennels, as if it were ditch water, or we shall soon
see the broad Tay crimsoned with it. But this blow was never meant for
the poor man on whom it has unhappily fallen. Every one knew what Oliver
Proudfute was, how wide he would speak, and how little he would do. He
has Henry Smith's buff coat, target, and head piece. All the town know
them as well as I do: there is no doubt on't. He had the trick, as you
know, of trying to imitate the smith in most things. Some one, blind
with rage, or perhaps through liquor, has stricken the innocent bonnet
maker, whom no man either hated or feared, or indeed cared either much
or little about, instead of the stout smith, who has twenty feuds upon
his hands."

"What then, is to be done, bailie?" cried the multitude.

"That, my friends, your magistrates will determine for you, as we shall
instantly meet together when Sir Patrick Charteris cometh here, which
must be anon. Meanwhile, let the chirurgeon Dwining examine that poor
piece of clay, that he may tell us how he came by his fatal death; and
then let the corpse be decently swathed in a clean shroud, as becomes
an honest citizen, and placed before the high altar in the church of
St. John, the patron of the Fair City. Cease all clamour and noise, and
every defensible man of you, as you would wish well to the Fair Town,
keep his weapons in readiness, and be prepared to assemble on the High
Street at the tolling of the common bell from the townhouse, and we will
either revenge the death of our fellow citizen, or else we shall take
such fortune as Heaven will send us. Meanwhile avoid all quarrelling
With the knights and their followers till we know the innocent from the
guilty. But wherefore tarries this knave Smith? He is ready enough
in tumults when his presence is not wanted, and lags he now when his
presence may serve the Fair City? What ails him, doth any one know? Hath
he been upon the frolic last Fastern's Even?"

"Rather he is sick or sullen, Master Bailie," said one of the city's
mairs, or sergeants; "for though he is within door, as his