"By Jove, thou art the very fiend himself!" said Roland, lost in astonishment at the sight of all these good things; "how else couldst thou get these gallant bottles of Rochelle and Bourdeaux from that old curmudgeon of the _Cross and Gillstoup_--for I see they bear his mark. On my honour, I am mightily tickled by thine ingenuity!" "I said we would pay----" "_We?_" "That is, your worship would pay them at even tide, the morn." "Why, Lintstock, I have not had a cross for these three days." "But there is a rumour about the palace," said Lintstock, closing his remaining eye, "that we march by daylight, the morn, for Douglasdale, or thereawa; and sae the auld screw of an hosteller may whistle on his thumb for the money till we come back again." "March! oh, impossible--for I have not heard a word of it; and how then shouldst thou? I warrant me the old cullion grumbled." "Like a boar in a high wind. 'Thou false knave and loon,' said I, with a hand on my dirk, just so; 'these twelve flasks are for the captain, my master.' 'He owes me thirty crowns and mair,' replied the dour carle. 'If he owed thee ten times as muckle, 'tis all right, for he will pay thee some day, and nobly too; so hand me over the flasks, or I will set the house on fire, and flay thee like St. Bartholomew!'" "But the veal and the ducks?" "I fished for one, and borrowed the other--but here come our gentlemen." Roland gave Lintstock one of the flasks to rejoice over, and laughed. He knew well what the old forager meant, for the royal poultry-yard was close by, and Lintstock, with a piece of meat tied to a string, as a lure for King James's full-fed ducks, had many a time and oft towed them in at the back-windows, with outspread wings; and more than one dozen of fowls had disappeared thus, to the astonishment of the royal poulterer. "But the pigeons?" "I shot with my arblast at Redhall's dovecot." "And the eels?" "I borrowed them frae the abbot's eel-arks, at the Canonmills loch." "Mass! thou'st had a busy day on't. Never mind; when I have the mains of Ashkirk with--tush, I will repay all these debts and borrowings with usury." With a towel under his arm, the old gunner drew himself up like a post, as the two cavaliers entered, attired in velvets richly laced and slashed, and looking very gay and smiling. "Welcome, Sir John Forrester!--and thou too, my gay Leslie! Ah! where didst get that scratch on thy nose?" "From the fan of little Sybil Douglas, at the queen's masque yesterday." "The little firefly! Seats, gentlemen, seats! By my faith, you are in ill-luck. 'Tis quite a fast-day with me, this, and you will sup like starveling Franciscans." "Fast!" said tall Forrester, as he threw aside his cloak and plume: "by St. Roque! if this is a fast-day, what are thy festivals? But who is thy provant master--thy _fourrier de campement_?" "My servitor--my trusty Lintstock."