unday's meal of meat!"

Whereupon, so filled with moon-madness were they, that they would refuse
good victual, because it had been given them upon a day with a heathen
name. Or, again, the more ill-set of the prisoners made their game of
them--for they were not all of them that suffered for their faith, who
were with us in the Canongate Tolbooth. But many city apprentices also
that had been in brawls or had broken their indentures. And, truth to
tell, we were somewhat glad of the regardless birkies. For when we were
dull of heart they made sport with us, and we were numerous enough to
keep them from interfering with our worship.

So these wild loons would say:

"Prophesy to us, John Gib, for we know that thou hast the devil ever at
thine elbow. Let us see thy face shining, as it did at the Spout of
Auchentalloch, when ye danced naked and burned the Bible."

And whether it was with our expectant looking for it, or whether the man
really had some devilry about him, certain it is that in the gloom of
the corner, where in his quiet spells he abode, there seemed to be
ofttimes a horrible face near to his own, and a little bluish light
thrown upon his hair and eyes. This was seen by most in the dungeon,
though, for my own part, I confess I could see nothing.

Then he would be taken with accesses of howling, like to a moonstruck
dog or a rutting hart on the mountains of heather. And sometimes, when
the fear of Anton Lennox was upon him, he would try to stop his roaring,
thrusting his own napkin into his mouth. But for all that the devil
within him would drive out the napkin and some most fearsome yells
behind it, as a pellet is driven from a boy's tow gun.

This he did mostly during worship--which was held thrice a day in the
Tolbooth, and helped to pass the time. At such seasons he became fairly
possessed, and was neither to hold nor bind. So that for common they had
to bring Anton Lennox to him with a quarter-staff, with which he
threatened him. And at sight of old Anton, Gib, though a big strong man,
would run behind the door and crouch there on his hunkers, howling
grievously like a dog.

He was ordered into leg-irons, but his ravings pleased the Duke of York
so much (because that he wanted to tar us all with the same stick) that
he had them taken off. Also he bade give him and David Jamie as much
paper and ink as ever they wanted, and to send him copies of all that
they wrote, for his entertainment. But in time of