The Baron paused: his great soul was not to be shaken by trifles! he
looked around him, and solemnly ejaculated the word "Humbug!" then
slinging the bridle across his arm, walked slowly on in the direction
of the castle.

The appearance, and still more, the disappearance of the crone, had,
however, made an impression; "'Twould be deuced provoking, though, if
he should break my neck after all." He turned and gazed at Dolphin with
the eye of a veterinary surgeon. "I'll be shot if he is not groggy!"
said the Baron.

With his lordship, like another great commander, "Once to be in doubt,
was once to be resolved:" it would never do to go to the wars on a
ricketty prad. He dropped the rein, drew forth Tickletoby, and, as the
enfranchised Dolphin, good easy horse, stretched out his ewe-neck to
the herbage, struck off his head at a single blow. "There, you lying
old beldame!" said the Baron; "now take him away to the knacker's."

Three years were come and gone. King Edward's French wars were over;
both parties having fought till they came to a standstill, shook hands,
and the quarrel, as usual, was patched up by a royal marriage. This
happy event gave his majesty leisure to turn his attention to Scotland,
where things, through the intervention of William Wallace, were looking
rather queerish. As his reconciliation with Philip now allowed of his
fighting the Scotch in peace and quietness, the monarch lost no time in
marching his long legs across the border, and the short ones of the
Baron followed him of course. At Falkirk, Tickletoby was in great
request; and in the year following, we find a contemporary poet hinting
at his master's prowess under the walls of Caerlaverock--