and good gifts which have passed from the good town to my Lord
Provost's, I cannot think he will be backward to show himself. More
than one lusty boat, laden with Bordeaux wine, has left the South
Shore to discharge its burden under the Castle of Kinfauns. I have
some right to speak of that, who was the merchant importer."

"And," said Dwining, with his squeaking voice, "I could speak
of delicate confections, curious comfits, loaves of wastel bread,
and even cakes of that rare and delicious condiment which men call
sugar, that have gone thither to help out a bridal banquet, or
a kirstening feast, or suchlike. But, alack, Bailie Craigdallie,
wine is drunk, comfits are eaten, and the gift is forgotten when
the flavour is past away. Alas! neighbour, the banquet of last
Christmas is gone like the last year's snow."

"But there have been gloves full of gold pieces," said the magistrate.

"I should know that who wrought them," said Simon, whose professional
recollections still mingled with whatever else might occupy his
mind. "One was a hawking glove for my lady. I made it something
wide. Her ladyship found no fault, in consideration of the intended
lining."

"Well, go to," said Bailie Craigdallie, "the less I lie; and if
these are not to the fore, it is the provost's fault, and not the
town's: they could neither be eat nor drunk in the shape in which
he got them."

"I could speak of a brave armour too," said the smith; "but, cogan
na schie! [Peace or war, I care not!] as John Highlandman says--