the head which was a sign of filial respect. Then, solemn as if he had
been in his place in the ordered line of the Earl's first levy of
archer men, he turned him about and went back to the smithy.

Laurence lay all abroad on the heap of charcoal of which the
armourer's welding fire was made. He was fairly expiring with
laughter, and when his brother angrily kicked him in the ribs, he only
waggled an ineffectual hand and feebly crowed in his throat like a
cock, in his efforts to stifle the sounds of mirth.

"Get up, fool," hissed his angry brother; "help me with this accursed
hammer-striking, or I will make an end of such a giggling lout as you.
Here, hold up."

And seizing his younger brother by the collar of his blue working
blouse, he dragged him upon his feet.

"Now, by the saints," said Sholto, "if you cast your gibes upon me,
by Saint Andrew I will break every bone in your idiot's body."

"The purple velvet--oh, the purple velvet!" gasped Laurence, as soon
as he could recover speech, "and the eyes of Maud Lindesay!"

"That will teach you to think rather of the eyes of Laurence MacKim!"
cried Sholto, and without more ado he hit his brother with his
clinched knuckles a fair blow on the bridge of his nose.

The next moment the two youths were grappling together like wild cats,
striking, kicking, and biting with no thought except of who should
have the best of the battle. They rolled on the floor, now tussling