weapon-showing to-morrow on the braes of Balmaghie. Sholto and
Laurence were the names of the two who clanged the ringing steel and
blew the smooth-handled bellows of tough tanned hide, that wheezed and
puffed as the fire roared up deep and red before sinking to the right
welding-heat in a little flame round the buckle-tache of the girdle
brace they were working on.

And as they hammered they talked together in alternate snatches and
silences?--Sholto, the elder, meanwhile keeping an eye on his father.
For their converse was not meant to reach the ear of the grave, strong
man who sat so still in the wicker chair with the afternoon sun
shining in his face.

"Hark ye, Laurence," said Sholto, returning from a visit to the door
of the smithy, the upper part of which was open. "No longer will I be
a hammerer of iron and a blower of fires for my father. I am going to
be a soldier of fortune, and so I will tell him--"

"When wilt thou tell him?" laughed his brother, tauntingly. "I wager
my purple velvet doublet slashed with gold which I bought with mine
own money last Rood Fair that you will not go across and tell him now.
Will you take the dare?"

"The purple velvet--you mean it?" said Sholto, eagerly. "Mind, if you
refuse, and will not give it up after promising, I will nick that
lying throat of yours with my gullie knife!"

And with that Sholto threw down his pincers and hammer, and valorously
pushed open the lower door of the smithy. He looked with bold, dark
blue eye at his father, and strode slowly across the grimy door-step.