"But he did what kings can do, he gave him two blows with his royal
sword."

"Oh, the robber, and him a deeing mon."

"Two words from his royal mouth, and he and we were Barons of Ipsden and
Hawthorn Glen from that day to this."

"But the puir dying creature?"

"What poor dying creature?"

"Your forbear, lad."

"I don't know why you call him poor, madam; all the men of that day are
dust; they are the gold dust who died with honor.

"He looked round, uneasily, for his son--for he had but one--and when
that son knelt, unwounded, by him, he said, 'Goodnight, Baron Ipsden;'
and so he died, fire in his eye, a smile on his lip, and honor on his
name forever. I meant to tell you a lie, and I've told you the truth."

"Laddie," said Christie, half admiringly, half reproachfully, "ye gar the
tear come in my een. Hech! look at yon lassie! how could you think t'eat
plums through siccan a bonny story?"

"Hets," answered Jean, who had, in fact, cleared the plate, "I aye listen
best when my ain mooth's stappit."