gay French hunting-song or plaintive Scottish ballad.

Scarcely a word had been uttered, until towards noon, on the borders of a
little narrow valley, the merry sound of bells clashed up to their ears,
and therewith sounds of music. ''Tis the toon of Christ's Kirk on the
Green,' said the squire, as Sir James looked at him for information,
'where we were to bait. Methought in Lent we had been spared this
gallimawfrey.'

''Tis Midlent week, you pagan,' replied Sir James. 'These good folk have
come a-mothering, and a share of their simnels we'll have.'

'Sir,' entreated the squire, 'were it not more prudent of you to tarry
without, and let me fetch provisions?'

'Hoot, man, a throng is our best friend! Besides, the horses must rest.'

So saying, Sir James rode eagerly forward; Malcolm following, not without
wonder at not having been consulted, for though kept in strict discipline
by his uncle, it had always been with every courtesy due to his rank as a
king's grandson; and the cousins, from whom he had suffered, were of the
same rank with himself. Did this wandering landless knight, now he had
him in his power, mean to disregard all that was his due? But when Sir
James turned round his face sparkling with good-humour and amusement, and
laughed as he said, 'Now then for the humours of a Scottish fair!' all
his offended dignity was forgotten.

The greensward was surrounded by small huts and hovels; a little old
stone church on one side, and a hostel near it, shadowed by a single tall
elm, beneath which was the very centre of the village wake. Not only was