ff out of; crying, at
the same blessed moment--"Hold out o' my road, ye long withered wabster.
Ye'er a pair of havering idiots; but I'll have pennyworths out of both
your skins, as I'm a sinner!"

[Picture: The waiting girl, Jeanie Amos]

What was to be done? There was no time for speaking, for Cursccowl,
foaming like a mad dog with passion, seized hold of the ell-wand, which
he flourished round his head like a Highlander's broadsword, and stamping
about, with his stockings drawn up his thighs, threatened every moment to
commit bloody murder.

If James Batter never saw service before, he learned a little of it that
day, being in a pickle of bodily terror not to be imagined by living man;
but his presence of mind did not forsake him, and he cowered for safety
and succour into a far corner, holding out a web of buckram before
him--me crying all the time, "Send for the town officer! will ye not send
for the town-officer?"

You may talk of your general Moores, and your Lord Wellingtons, as ye
like; but never, since I was born, did I ever see or hear tell of
anything braver than the way Tammie Bodkin behaved, in saving both our
precious lives, at that blessed nick of time, from touch-and-go jeopardy:
for, when Cursecowl was rampauging about, cursing and swearing like a
Russian bear, hurling out volleys of oaths that would have frighted John
Knox, forbye the like of us, Tammie stole in behind him like a wild-cat,
followed by Joseph Breekey, Walter Cuff, and Jack Thorl, the three
apprentices on their stocking soles; and, having strong and dumpy arms,
pinned back his elbows like a flash of lightning, giving the other
callants time to jump on his back, and hold him like a vice; while,
having got time to draw my breath, and screw up my pluck, I ran forward
like a lion, and houghed the whole concern--Tammie Bodkin, the three
faithful apprentices, Cursecowl and all, coming to the ground like a
battered castle.

It was now James Batter's time to come up in line, and, though a douce
man (being savage for the insulting way that Cursecowl had dared to use
him), he dropped down like mad, with his knees on Cursecowl's breast, who
was yelling, roaring, and grinding his buck-teeth like a mad bull,
kicking right and spurring left with fire and fury; and, taking his
Kilmarnock off his head, thrust it, like a battering-ram, into
Cursecowl's mouth, to hinder him from alarming the neighbourhood, and
bringing the whole wo