which Harry had spoken of his prospects with the King of Scots,
that terrified him all the more, because he knew that Sir James and Nigel
would both hold it unworthy of him to have spoken freely of his own
sovereign with an Englishman. Would James be another Walter? and, if so,
would Sir James Stewart protect him? He had acquired much affection for,
and strong reliance on, the knight; but there was something unexplained,
and his heart sank.

The smooth line of Watling Street at length opened into the old town of
Thirsk, and here bells were ringing, flags flying from the steeple, music
sounded, a mayor and his corporation in their robes rode slowly forth,
crowds lined the road-side, caps were flung up, and a tremendous shout
arose, 'God save King Harry!'

Malcolm gazed about more utterly discomfited. There was 'Harry,' upright
on his horse, listening with a gracious smile, while the mayor rehearsed
a speech about welcome and victories, and the hopeful queen, and, what
was still more to the purpose, tendered a huge pair of gauntlets, each
filled to the brim, one with gold, and the other with silver pieces.

'Eh! Thanks, Master Mayor, but these gloves must be cleared, ere there
is room for me to use them in battle!'

And handing the gold glove to his brother, he scattered the contents of
the silver one far and wide among the populace, who shouted their
blessings louder than ever, and thus he reached the market-place. There
all was set forth as for the lists, a horseman in armour on either side.

'Heigh now, Sirs,' said Harry, 'have we not wars enough toward without
these mummings of vanity?'

'This is no show, my Lord King,' returned the mayor, abashed. 'This is
deadly earnest. These are two honourable gentlemen of Yorkshire, who are
come hither to fight out their quarrel before your Grace.'

'Two honourable foolsheads!' muttered Harry; then, raising his voice,
'Come hither, gentlemen, let us hear your quarrel.'

The two gentlemen were big Yorkshiremen, heavy-browed, and their native
shrewdness packed far away behind a bumpkin stolidity and surliness that
barely allowed them to show respect to the King.

'So please you, Sir,' growled the first in his throat, 'here stands
Christopher Kitson of Barrowbridge, ready to avouch himself a true man,
and prove in yonder fellow's teeth that it was not a broken-kneed beast
that I sent up for a heriard to my Lord Archbishop when my father died;
but that he of Easingwo