for a retreat, and in the mean while came to a decided halt. But the
Philistine was upon him ere the bonnet maker could decide whether
to fight or fly, and a very ominous looking Philistine he was. His
figure was gaunt and lathy, his visage marked by two or three ill
favoured scars, and the whole man had much the air of one accustomed
to say, "Stand and deliver," to a true man.

This individual began the discourse by exclaiming, in tones as
sinister as his looks, "The devil catch you for a cuckoo, why do
you ride across the moor to spoil my sport?"

"Worthy stranger," said our friend, in the tone of pacific
remonstrance, "I am Oliver Proudfute, a burgess of Perth, and a
man of substance; and yonder is the worshipful Adam Craigdallie,
the oldest bailie of the burgh, with the fighting Smith of the Wynd,
and three or four armed men more, who desire to know your name,
and how you come to take your pleasure over these lands belonging
to the burgh of Perth; although, natheless, I will answer for
them, it is not their wish to quarrel with a gentleman, or stranger
for any accidental trespass; only it is their use and wont not to
grant such leave, unless it is duly asked; and--and--therefore
I desire to know your name, worthy sir."

The grim and loathly aspect with which the falconer had regarded
Oliver Proudfute during his harangue had greatly disconcerted him,
and altogether altered the character of the inquiry which, with
Henry Gow to back him, he would probably have thought most fitting
for the occasion.

The stranger replied to it, modified as it was, with a most