more than one bow was bent, and several hand-fusils levelled from the
company which followed behind.

But the injured knight threw up his visor.

"Hold, there!" he cried, "the boy is right. It was I who insulted him,
and he did right to be revenged, though the rogue's aim is more to be
admired than his choice of weapons. Come hither, lad. Tell me who thou
art, and what is thy father's quality?"

"I am Laurence MacKim, an archer of my lord's guard, and the younger
son of Malise MacKim, master armourer to the Douglas."

Laurence, being still angry, rang out his titles as if they had been
inscribed in the book of the Lion-King-at-Arms.

"Saints save us," cried the knight in swart armour, "all that!"

Then, seeing the boy ready to answer back still more fiercely, he
continued with a courteous wave of the hand.

"I humbly ask your pardon, Master Laurence. I am glad the son of
Brawny Kim hath no small part of his father's spirit. Will you take
service and be my esquire, as becomes well a lad of parts who desires
to win his way to a knighthood?"

The heart of Laurence MacKim beat quickly--a horse to ride--an
esquire--perhaps if he had luck and much fighting, a knighthood.
Nevertheless, he answered with a bold straight look out of his black
eyes.