mair than ordinary
modesty; we 'ill take another witness. Ernest Molyneux, what have ye got
to say?"

"Cosh called my father names, and ... I lost my t-temper, and ... and
... I said things ... the pater's ill, sir, so I ... and Cosh stwuck me
once or twice--but I don't mind that; only Peter, you see, sir, wanted
to help me. I'm afraid he h-hurtit Cosh, but that was how it happened."

"Stand beside Nestie, Cosh ... so; half a head taller and much broader
and four years older. Ye called his father names, and then cut his lip
when he answered. Just so. There are some pretty little scratches on yir
own face. That would be Peter. Well, Bailie, the case is pretty plain,
and we 'ill go to judgment.

"Ernest Molyneux, yir father's a good man, and it does not matter two
brass peens what Robert Cosh says about him, and ye're no an
ill-disposed laddie yersel.' Ye may go to your seat.

"Peter McGuffie, ye're aye meddlin' wi' what doesna concern ye, and ye
seem to think that Providence gave Nestie into yir chairge. One day ye
pull him oot o' the river, and anither ye take him oot o' the hands o'
Robert Cosh. But ye've done your wark sae neatly this time that I havena
the heart to thrash ye. Ye may go to your seat, too; and, Peter, ma
man, just one word of advice. Yir head is thick, but yir heart is richt;
see that ye always use yir fists as well as ye did that day.

"Robert Cosh, ye've had a fair trial, and ye have been convicted of
three heinous sins. First, ye miscalled a good man--for that three
strokes with the cane; next, ye ill-used the quietest laddie in the
whole school--for that three strokes; and, lastly, being moved of the
devil, ye went home and told lies to a magistrate--for that six strokes.
Three on each hand to-day and to-morrow will just settle the count.
Right hand first."

"Mr. MacKinnon, I protest...."

"What?" and Bulldog turned on the magistrate; "would ye interfere with
the course o' justice in another man's jureesdiction, and you a
magistrate?" And Bulldog's eyes began to rotate in a fearsome manner.

The Bailie allowed it to be understood that he had changed his mind, and
Robert, who had expected great things from the magistrate's protection,
abandoned himself to despair and walked humbly for many days to come.

Next day Nestie was not in his place, and Bulldog, growing uneasy,
called on his way home.

"Aye, aye," and the landlady's voice sank into the minor key of Scots
sympathy, "Maister Moll