When the London mail stopped in the village, the next day, they sent a
message to Lord Lindsay, and in a week's time, he came after his son.
He was a very grand gentleman; his dress was all velvet and satin, and
blazing with jewels. How the villagers stared. They had flatly refused
to believe that this last little stranger was the first one, and had
made great fun of Margary and her mother for being so credulous.
But they had not minded. They had given their guest a little pallet
stuffed with down, and a pillow stuffed with rose-leaves to sleep on,
and fed him with the best they had. His father, in his gratitude,
offered Margary's mother rich rewards; but she would take nothing. The
little boy cried on parting with his kind friends, and Margary cried
too.

"I prithee, pretty Margary, do not forget me," said he.

And she promised she never would, and gave him a sprig of rosemary out
of her garden to wear for a breastknot.

The villagers were greatly mortified when they discovered the mistake
they had made. However, the oldest woman always maintained that her
not having her spectacles on, when she met the stranger the second
time, was the reason of her not seeing that he loved butter; and the
schoolmaster gave his poetical abstraction for an excuse. Mine host
of the "Boar's Head" fairly tore his hair, and flung the pewter
porringer, which he had thrown after the stranger and his dog, into
the well. After that he was very careful how he turned away strangers
because of their appearance. Generally he sent for the oldest woman to
put her spectacles on, and try the buttercup test. Then, if she
said they loved butter and were Lindsays, they were taken in and
entertained royally. She generally did say they loved butter--she