"You can stay till you have to come down and be a dead Scots lord. I'm
not going to lie there as I did last time, with nobody but the Wrig
for a Scots lord, and her forgetting to be dead!"

Sir Apple-Cheek then essayed the hard part "chucked up" by Rafe. It
was rather difficult, I confess, as the first four lines were in
pantomime and required great versatility:--

"The first word that Sir Patrick read,
Fu' loud, loud laughed he;

The neist word that Sir Patrick read,
The tear blinded his e'e."

These conflicting emotions successfully simulated, Sir Patrick
resumed:--

"'O wha is he has dune this deed,
And tauld the King o' me,--
To send us out, at this time o' the year,
To sail upon the sea?'"

Then the king stood up in the unstable tower and shouted his own
orders:--

"'Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet,
Our ship maun sail the faem;
The King's daughter o' Noroway,
'Tis we maun fetch her hame.'"

"Can't we rig the ship a little better?" demanded our stage manager at
this juncture. "It isn't half as good as the tower."

Ten minutes' hard work, in which we assisted, produced something a
trifle more nautical and seaworthy than the first ship. The ground
with a few boards spread upon it was the deck. Tarpaulin sheets were
arranged on sticks to represent sails, and we located the vessel so
cleverly that two slender trees shot out of the middle of it and
served as the tall topmasts.

"Now let us make believe that we've hoisted our sails on 'Mononday
morn' and been in Noroway 'weeks but only twae,'" said our leading
man; "and your time has come now," turning to us.

We felt indeed that it had; but plucking up sufficient courage for the
lords o' Noroway, we cried accusingly,--

"'Ye Scottishmen spend a' our King's gowd,
And a' our Queenis fee!'"

Oh, but Sir Apple-Cheek was glorious as he roared virtuously:--

"'Ye lee! ye lee! ye leers loud,
Fu' loudly do ye lee!

'For I brocht as much white monie
As gane my men and me,
An' I brocht a half-fou o' gude red gowd
Out ower the sea wi' me.

'But betide me weil, betide me wae,
This day I'se leave the shore;
And never spend my King's monie
'Mong Noroway dogs no more.

'Make ready, make ready, my merry men a',
Our gude ship sails the morn.'

Now you be the sailors, please!"

Glad to be anything but Noroway