"Well done for St. Andrew! to it again. Whom next had you to deal
with?" said Simon, laughing at the exploits of his pacific friend.

"I fought a Scotchman in the Torwood," answered Henry Smith, "upon
a doubt which was the better swordsman, which, you are aware, could
not be known or decided without a trial. The poor fellow lost two
fingers."

"Pretty well for the most peaceful lad in Perth, who never touches
a sword but in the way of his profession. Well, anything more to
tell us?"

"Little; for the drubbing of a Highlandman is a thing not worth
mentioning."

"For what didst thou drub him, O man of peace?" inquired the glover.

"For nothing that I can remember," replied the smith, "except his
presenting himself on the south side of Stirling Bridge."

"Well, here is to thee, and thou art welcome to me after all these
exploits. Conachar, bestir thee. Let the cans clink, lad, and thou
shalt have a cup of the nut brown for thyself, my boy."

Conachar poured out the good liquor for his master and for Catharine
with due observance. But that done, he set the flagon on the table
and sat down.

"How now, sirrah! be these your manners? Fill to my guest, the
worshipful Master Henry Smith."