As the Earl passed along the line he was annoyed by the iterated
requests of his uncle to be informed when they should come to the
company of the Laird of Kelton. And the good Abbot, being like all
deaf men apt to speak a little loud, did not improve matters by
constantly making remarks behind his hand, upon the appearance or
character (as known to him) of the various dependents of the Douglas
House who had come out to show their loyalty and exhibit their
preparedness for battle.

As thus it was. The young Earl would come in his inspection to a
company of Solway-side men--stiff-jointed fishers of salmon nets out
of the parishes of Rerrick or Borgue--or, as it might be, rough colts
from the rock scarps of Colvend, scramblers after wild birds' nests on
perilous heuchs, and poachers on the deer preserves of Cloak Moss, as
often as they had a chance. Then the Earl, having zealously commended
the particular Barnbacle or Munches who led them, all would be peace
and concord, till out of the crowd behind would issue the growling
comment of his uncle, the Abbot of Dulce Cor.

"A close-fisted old thief! The saints pity him not! He will surely fry
in Hell! Last Shrovetide did he not drive off five of our best milch
cows, and hath steadfastly refused to restore them? _Anathema
maranatha_ to his vile body and condemned be his huckstering soul!"

Needless to add, every word of this comment and addition was heard by
the person most concerned.

Or it might be, "Henry A'milligan--his mother's son, God wot. And his
father's, too, doubtless--if only one could know who his father was.
The devil dwell in his fat belly! _Exorciso te_--"