ears,
and therewith sounds of music. ''Tis the toon of Christ's Kirk on the
Green,' said the squire, as Sir James looked at him for information,
'where we were to bait. Methought in Lent we had been spared this
gallimawfrey.'

''Tis Midlent week, you pagan,' replied Sir James. 'These good folk have
come a-mothering, and a share of their simnels we'll have.'

'Sir,' entreated the squire, 'were it not more prudent of you to tarry
without, and let me fetch provisions?'

'Hoot, man, a throng is our best friend! Besides, the horses must rest.'

So saying, Sir James rode eagerly forward; Malcolm following, not without
wonder at not having been consulted, for though kept in strict discipline
by his uncle, it had always been with every courtesy due to his rank as a
king's grandson; and the cousins, from whom he had suffered, were of the
same rank with himself. Did this wandering landless knight, now he had
him in his power, mean to disregard all that was his due? But when Sir
James turned round his face sparkling with good-humour and amusement, and
laughed as he said, 'Now then for the humours of a Scottish fair!' all
his offended dignity was forgotten.

The greensward was surrounded by small huts and hovels; a little old
stone church on one side, and a hostel near it, shadowed by a single tall
elm, beneath which was the very centre of the village wake. Not only was
it Midlent, but the day was the feast of a local saint, in whose honour
Lenten requirements were relaxed. Monks and priests were there in
plenty, and so were jugglers and maskers, Robin Hood and Marion, glee-men
and harpers, merchants and hucksters, masterful beggars and sorners,
shepherds in gray mauds with wise collies at their feet, shrewd old
carlines with their winter's spinning of yarn, lean wolf-like borderers
peaceable for the nonce, merry lasses with tow-like locks floating from
their snoods, all seen by the intensely glittering sun of a clear March
day, dry and not too cold for these hardy northern folk.

Nigel, the squire, sighed in despondency; and Malcolm, who hated crowds,
and knew himself a mark for the rude observations of a free-spoken
populace, shrank up to him, when Sir James, nodding in time to the tones
of a bagpipe that was playing at the hostel door, flung his bridle to
Brewster the groom, laughed at his glum and contemptuous looks, merrily
hailed the gudewife with her brown face and big silver ear-rings, seated
himself on the be