CHAPTER XLIV. "I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus, SHAKSPEARE. IN proceeding from Knockwhinnie's lodgings, Southennan met his boy. "Ah! Laird," exclaimed Hughoc, on seeing him: "do ye ken what a come-to-pass has happened? Knockwhinnie's back frae France; and sic a like sight! ye wouldna' ken him were ye to see him in your spoon.' Our hero was a little startled, apprehensive lest the Outlaw might have been discovered by some other person. "How came you," said he, " to know of this? Who told you?" 66 Na," replied the boy; "I'se warrant naebody told me: but ye see, I chanced to ha'e a needcessity about the horses. so I was down at Widow Hutchie's house, and standing at the door, glowering frae me, there came an auld gaberlunzie looking man, wi' a white beard, that would ha'e been creditable to the auldest he-goat in Arran, and leaning on his staff, which was a very pretty ane, and, I daur say, had a sword in its kyte, for it had a silver virl just below the heft lith, he asked me, wi' a kind o' strangulated voice, if I could tell him where young Southennan was to be found. I ken but ae Southennan,' quo' I; and I looked up in his face, and as his mouth was open, I discerned by his teeth that he was na' sae auld as he was like, and hadna' lost mark o' mouth; so a jealousy fell upon me, and I thought, wha can this guisart be?" "Speak to the point," interrupted his master. "Well," resumed Hughoc, "speaking to the point: I looked a little better at him; but really his face was sae weel hidden aneath a coat o' paint, that for the leeving soul o' me, I couldna' guess wha it possibly could be; but it cam' into my head to cry wi' a loud skreigh o' terror, Eh! gudeman, there's a jenny-wi'-the-many-feet crawling on your coat-neck.' The deevil there is!' said he, in his natural voice; and wha's natu 6 ral voice, think ye, was that, Laird ? As sure's death, it was Knock whinnie's! Seeing he wasna' disposed to be confidential wi' me, I didna let on that I kent him, but just said, that ye were down at the Abbey gallanting wi' the Queen and her leddies." "Well," replied his master, "you have shown yourself, Hughoc, both shrewd and sharp; but tell nobody what you have discovered." "Wha "Ye needna' counsel that," exclaimed the boy. would I tell? Ye surely, Laird, dinna' think me so lost to discretion as to speak on sic a kittle point wi' our Baldy, wha, for any thing that I see, is growing to be a monk. Hech! but it's a puir trade now-a-days. He'll no make his plack a baw bee by that." This information respecting his servant a little molested the tranquillity of Southennan, although it was not altogether new to him. He had remarked something like remissness in the conduct of Baldy from the first day of their arrival in Edinburgh, and he thought him too particular in his attendance on Father Jerome, who he well knew was stirring among the Catholic priesthood; the arrival of the Queen having drawn them in great numbers to the town. Being, however, anxious to complete his mission to Count Dufroy, he ordered Hughoc to attend him to the palace, and, as they went down the Canongate, he inquired his reason for supposing that Baldy was likely to turn a monk. "Oh! oh!" said the boy: "I didna' mean that he was sic a desperate sneck-drawer as to turn a true monk; I only meant that he was growing ane in a certain sense. But, Laird, I would look weel about me if I were you; for I heard Father Jerome tell a muckle fat painchy priest that he had but sma' expectation o' you, and the utmost it would be in his power to do was, wi' the help o' Baldy, to keep you frae falling into harm's way, which they meant was going to the orthodox kirks!". Southennan bit his lips at hearing this; the idea of being so circumvented by his servant provoked his indignation, but he only said to the boy in an indifferent tone- "And how did you overhear this conversation?" "Ye see, sir, I hae sometimes naething to do, and so whiles I dauner about, and whiles I gang in till Widow Hutchie's room, and lie down on the big kist that stands ahint the door, and make a bit skip frae care into the land of Nod. Nae farther gane than yesterday, being in the humour for a doze of forgetfulness, I lay down on the kist lid, and when I was lying there, in came Father Jerome wi' that haggis-bellied monk, and they were unco couthy and cosy, talking into ane anither's lugs about papistical matters. Now I like, when I see folk sae earnest, to get some notion o' what the're saying, and Baldy just gae's wud whenever he catches me wi' my lug at the keyhole. 'Od, Laird but the body has turned unco cankery; howsomever, that's nane o' our business even now. But when I saw the twa enter the room, I snored wi' a' my might, and closed my eyne. 'Puir chicken,' said the round-about friar, 'he's tired, let him alone;' for Father Jerome was going to waken me. Then they sat down and they had-Lord Laird! but fat priests are ay dry--they had a chappin o' the Luckie's best, and they spoke, and they better spoke, and ye would hae thought that they had a' the cares o' Scotland on their backs, and the sins o' the warld likewise; sae frae less to mair, they couldna' weel do without haeing a rug at your tail. That's just the way that I overheard them. The peculiarities of Hughoc and his natural shrewdness had often amused his master, who began to think that he had been progressing since they had come to Edinburgh; and this, as they walked along, induced him to inquire what the boy thought of the town and people. "The town," said Hughoc, "is weel enough, for I fancy a' towns are naturally dirty; but as for the folk, I dinna think they're right folk at a'. In the country, if ye're weary, or dry, or hungry, ye may gang into a neighbour's house, and rest yoursel', or seek a drink o' milk or a bite o' bread. 'Od, sir! this is a faminous place; and then the're a' sae wise; Gude keep us, but the folk o' Embro' are wise folk, considering their ignorance!" "However, Hughoc, no doubt you find them very civil ?” "Ceevil!' od, Laird, they ken na emair o' ceevility than stupit stots. There was twa' o' them; ane a man wi' a bailie's belly, and anither wi' his hosen up o'er his breek knees, wi' a green apron and a red nightcap, threads about his neck, swatches in the ae hand, and a pair o' muckle shears in the ither, holding a discourse concerning the Queen's Majesty; and the tailoring man, that was him wi' the shears, said to the other that he was mista'en if he supposed a papistical princess like the Queen, could be any better than a malefactoring nun amang friars. Hearing this, I stopped and turned up my lug to kep what they were saying. Weel, it's dreadfu' how they daur't to touch me! but the lean man wi' the nightcap and the shears, gied me sic a pelt on the head that he dunkeled my hernpan, and the man that was sae big wi' belly lifted up his foot, and-" "What did he do?" inquired our hero; for Hughoc paused, as if suddenly afraid to tell more, but encouraged by the question, he cried, "Do! I just took haud o' him by the leg, and he was down on the breadth o' his back on the causey stanes without conoversy." "You will get yourself into trouble, if you dare to do such things," said his master, laughing. "'Deed, Laird, that's as true as the reformed gospel." "How?" exclaimed Southenan; "what do you know of the reformed or unreformed gospel?" "Weel, Laird, if ye'll no be angry, I'll tell you the truth; it was ordained that I should go by Giles's kirk last Sabbath." "Ordained, and Sabbath!" ejaculated Southennan. But ae "Just sae, Laird, and nae harm in't. Sae going past the kirk door, I heard a bum-bizzing within, and could do nae less than look in; and there I beheld a divine, hallooing at a dreadfu' rate against what he called--'Od! I doubt he'll get his fairing for't hereafter--the idolatry o' the mass. thing he made plain to me, that it couldna' be an idolatry; for by the eyne he convinced everybody bread and wine wasna' flesh and bluid ;-now, Laird, I'm o' that way o' thinking. And he told us that unless we made use o' our senses, the scales could never be removed from off the eyes o' the understanding. But when I got hame, and told Baldy what I had heard, he loupit like a blackbird, and gied me sic a skelp o' persecution on the haffit, that I think it did weel to reform me." By this time they had crossed the gutter that marked the boundary of the sanctuary of the palace, within which a considerable crowd was assembled round a tall, strapping, randylooking woman. "Eh! pater-noster!" exclaimed Hughoc, "it's Friar Michael." ! CHAPTER XLV. "Thus I talk wisely, and to purpose." THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. SOUTHENNAN, enjoining Hughoc to remain for him at the portal, went into the Palace; but it would have been a strong injunction indeed which, on such an occasion, would have curtailed the freedom of that boy's will. The transformation of Auchenbrae had deeply interested his curiosity; and he mingled with the crowd, around the apparent termagant. The appearance of Auchenbrae at that time, and in that disguise so near the Palace, was not altogether voluntary. He had been out on some of his wild rambles, beyond the water of Leith, and in returning across the ferry, had been recognised by Johnnie Gaff and one of his compeers, who happened to be present, and who attempted to seize him. But he rescued himself, and, gathering up the petticoats of his disguise, ran from them across the Links to the sanctuary of Holyrood Chapel. Being the first who had taken refuge there since the purification of the church, the crowd were in doubt whether he could be taken without the bounds, and carried before the magistrates, and one among them maintained the legal impracticability of violating the Sanctuary; but Johnnie Gaff, who was the Orator of the human race on the occasion, with his lips quivering, his face pale with passion, and his eyes as if they would have kindled candles, holding the delinquent by the throat, denied the doctrine as a papistical abomination. "I will prove it," exclaimed Johnnie; "and I call in the Queen's name for the Posse Com-a-to-us to implement the caption. This is a case o' reestment jurisdictiony fundandy, and no question quoad privilegy can be raised on it." In the midst, however, of Johnnie's oration, the disturbance had roused the Palace-guard; which, without respect of persons, laid hold of Auchenbrae as well as the orators, and dragged them to the guard-house. In vain did Johnnie plead his |