been going badly with the Croziers.
Their beef-tubs were empty. The Borders were evidently going to the
dogs. It was no longer possible for any hard-working reiver to make a
living on them. Percival Reed would have to get his leave, or it was all
up with reiving in Redesdale. To all of these complaints Hall lent a
willing ear; nay, more, to their surprise, a sympathetic one. Apparently
he, too, had some little schemes afoot, with which the keeper's
over-vigilance had seriously interfered. What a merry jest it would be,
next time the Croziers crossed the Border by moonlight, if the keeper's
plans for that night were known to them, and if, instead of finding in
the clan Hall enemies, they found them allies. The Croziers might have
all the spoil, but the Halls would share the joke, and Percival Reed
would crow less crouse for the future.

It was a quite simply arranged affair. The Halls entered with zest into
the plot. Second place was not good enough for them, and the Reeds had
boasted long enough.

And Percival Reed, in all innocence, soon heard rumour of a foray by
the Croziers, and confided in his friend Girsonfield exactly how he
meant to meet it. This information speedily found its way to the
Scottish side of the Border, and in Hall of Girsonfield Reed found a
more than usually willing supporter. The appointed night came, and ere
they started in the uncertain light of a misty moon the keeper of
Redesdale supped at Girsonfield. "Ye're loaded, are ye, Parcy?" asked
the genial host in the burring Northumbrian voice we know so well even
to-day. "I'll give a look to our primings while ye drink a stirrup-cup."
More than a look he gave. Strong spirit from the Low Countries might be
good jumping powder for the Keeper of Redesdale, but it was a damping
potion for the keeper's musket when gently poured on its priming. At
Batenshope, on the Whitelee ground, Reeds and Halls and Croziers met,
and a joyous crew were the Croziers that night as they homewards rode up
the Rede valley. For at the first fire of Percival Reed's musket it
burst, and he dropped from his horse a murdered man. The Reeds knew it
for treason, and the subsequent conduct of the Halls left them no room
for doubt. It was, indeed, a fine foundation for a family feud, and for
generation after generation the feud went on.

What was the end of Hall of Girsonfield no one has chronicled; it is not
hard to imagine the purgatory of his latter years.

But it is not of