and himself in a blood-feud with the
kin of a lawyer.

"Friend of mine!" cried the big man, "no, by no means a friend--but, as
it may chance, some sort of kin. However that may be, if you have indeed
got Pollixfen safe, you have done the best day's work that ever you did
for yourself and for King George, God bless him!"

"Say you so?" said my grandfather. "Indeed, I rejoice me to hear it. I
have ever been a loyal subject. And as to the Maitland bairns--you see
no harm in their making their home with my goodwife, where the lads can
take care of them--in the unsettled state of the country!"

The senior partner at last got in a poke at the fire, for which he had
been long waiting his chance.

"And you, Master Lyon, that are such a good kingsman," he kekkled, "do
you never hear the blythe Free Traders go clinking by, or find an anker
of cognac nested in your yard among the winter-kail?"

"Mr. Smart," said the big man, "this is a market day, but I shall need
to ride and see if this is well founded. You will put on your coat
decently and take my work. Abraham has already as much as he can do. Be
short with them--they will not come wanting to drink with you as they do
with me! If what this good Cameronian says be true at this moment, as I
have no doubt it was when he left Marnhoul, the sooner I, Richard
Poole, am on the spot the better."

So he bade us haste and get our beast out of the yard. As for him he was
booted and spurred and buckskinned already. He had nothing to do but
mount and ride.

All this had passed so quickly that I had hardly time to think on the
strangeness of it. _Our_ Mr. Poole, he to whom my uncle Rob had given
such a stamp, was not the partner in the ancient firm of Smart, Poole
and Smart of the Plainstones. Of these I had seen two, and heard the
busy important voice of the third in another room as we descended the
stairs. They were all men very different from the viper whom my
grandmother had caught as in a bag. Even Mr. Smart was a gentleman. For
if he had a flannel dressing-gown on, one could see the sparkle of his
paste buckles at knee and instep, and his hose were of the best black
silk, as good as Doctor Gillespie's on Sacrament Sabbath when he was
going up to preach his action sermon. But our Mr. Wringham Pollixfen
Poole--I would not have wiped my foot on him--though, indeed, Uncle Rob
had made no bones about that matter.

CHAPTER XXI

WHILE WE SAT BY THE FIRE

Through the deep