for figures, for on the days of truce when the Wardens of the Scottish
and English Marches met to redd up accounts, not only had they to work
out knotty arithmetical problems with regard to the value of every sort
of live stock, of buildings, of "insight," and the payment of such
bills, but they had to have expert knowledge in fair exchange of a
Scottish for an English life, an English for a Scotch. Little wonder if
their patience sometimes ran short, as did that of a Howard of Naworth
upon one famous occasion. He was deeply engrossed in studies that had no
bearing upon Border affairs when an officer came to announce the
capture of some Scottish moss-troopers, and to ask for the Warden's
commands with regard to them. The interruption was untimely, and Lord
Howard was exasperated. "Hang them, in the devil's name!" he said
angrily, and went on with his studies. A little later he felt he could
better give his mind to the consideration of the case, and sent for his
officer. "Touching the prisoners," said he, "what have you done with
them?"

Proud of being one of those who did not let the grass grow beneath their
feet, the officer beamingly responded: "Everyone o' them's hangit, my
lord!"

It was a March day in 1596, when a Wardens' meeting took place at
Dayholm, near Kershopefoot. The snow was still lying in the hollows of
the Cheviots, the trees were bare, the Liddel and the Esk swollen by
thaws and winter rains; but weather was a thing that came but little
into the reckoning of the men of the Marches unless some foray was
afoot. They got through the business more or less satisfactorily, and
proceeded to ride home before the day of truce should be ended. From
sunrise on the one day until sunset on the next, so the Border law
ordained, all Scots and Englishmen who were present at the Wardens'