ed
battles--the king and all his knights and soldiers against the enemies
of the country--ah, and it is not over yet! But I wonder to find all so
tranquil here in the midst of such troublous times!" And then the
stranger passed on; and his words fell on the peaceful hamlet like a
stone thrown into the bosom of a tranquil lake.

At once there was a general commotion and excitement among the village
folk. "Could the news be true? How dreadful if the enemy were indeed to
come and burn down their homesteads, and ravage their crops, and kill
them every one with their swords!"

That night the gossip lasted a long time on Langaffer Bridge. Wattie's
friends, the miller and the grocer, the tailor and the shoemaker, and
big Farmer Fairweather spoke highly of the king and his faithful
knights, and clenched their fists, and raised their voices to an angry
pitch at the mention of the enemy's name. And little Wattie behaved like
the rest of them, strutted about, and doubled up his tiny hands, and
proclaimed what he should do if Langaffer were attacked--and "if he were
only a little bigger!" Whereupon the neighbours laughed and held their
sides, and cried aloud, "Well done, Wattie!"

But the following evening brought more serious tidings. Shortly before
nightfall a rider, mounted on a sweltering steed, arrived at the village
inn, all out of breath, to announce that the army was advancing, and
that the General of the Forces called upon every householder in
Langaffer to furnish food and lodging for the soldiers.

"What! _Soldiers_ quartered on us!" cried the good people of Langaffer.
"Who ever heard the like?"

"They shall not come to _my_ house!" exclaimed Farmer Fairweather
resolutely.

"Oh, neighbour Fairweather!" shouted half a dozen voices, "and thou hast
such barns and lofts, and such very fine stables, and cowsheds, thou art
the very one who canst easily harbour the soldiers."

"As for _me_," cried the miller, "I have barely room for my meal-sacks!"

"Oh, plenty of room!" screamed the others, "and flour to make bread for
the troopers, and bran for the horses!"

"But it falls very hard on poor people like us!" cried the weaver, the
tinker, the cobbler and tailor; upon which little Wattie raised his
voice and began, "Shame on ye, good neighbours! Do ye grudge hospitality
to the warriors who go forth to shed their blood in our defence? Every
man, who has strength of body and limb, ought to feel it an honour to
afford food