eminence, the force of my assault toppled him over. My victory lasted
scarcely a minute. He flung me from him like a feather, then picked me
up and laid on to me with the flat of his sword.

"Ye thrawn jackanapes," he cried, as he beat me. "Ye'll pay dear for
playing your pranks wi' John Donald."

I was a child in his mighty grasp, besides having no breath left in me
to resist. He tied my hands and legs, haled me to his horse, and flung
me sack-like over the crupper. There was no more shamefaced lad in the
world than me at that moment, for coming out of the din I heard a
girl's light laughter.




CHAPTER III.

THE CANONGATE TOLBOOTH.

"Never daunton youth" was, I remember, a saying of my grandmother's;
but it was the most dauntoned youth in Scotland that now jogged over
the moor to the Edinburgh highroad. I had a swimming head, and a hard
crupper to grate my ribs at every movement, and my captor would shift
me about with as little gentleness as if I had been a bag of oats for
his horse's feed. But it was the ignominy of the business that kept me
on the brink of tears. First, I was believed to be one of the maniac
company of the Sweet-Singers, whom my soul abhorred; _item_, I had been
worsted by a trooper with shameful ease, so that my manhood cried out
against me. Lastly, I had cut the sorriest figure in the eyes of that