The greater part of the others returned at the darkening, most with well-filled pockets, though I fear it was not all come by honestly; and a special feast was prepared. That gipsy meal was of the strangest yet most excellent quality. There was a savoury soup made of all kinds of stewed game and poultry, and after that the flesh of pigs and game roasted and broiled. There was no seasoning to the food save a kind of very bitter vinegar; for these people care little for salt or any condiment. Moreover, they had the strange practice of grating some hard substance into their wine, which gave it a flavour as if it had been burned in the mulling. The meal was over and I was thinking of lying down for the night, when William Baillie came back. I noted that in the firelight his face was black with anger. I heard him speak to several of his men, and his tone was the tone of one who was mastering some passion. By and by he came to where I sat and lay down beside me. "Do you wish to pleasure me?" he said, shortly. "Why, yes," I answered; "you have saved my life and I would do all in my power to oblige you, though I fear that just now my power is little." "It’s a’ I want," said he, leaving his more correct speech for the broad Scots of the countryside. "Listen, and I’ll tell ye what happened the day at the fair. We tinker-folk went aboot our business, daein’ ill to nane, and behavin’ like dacent, peaceable, quiet-mainnered men and women. The place was in a gey steer, for a heap o’ Wast-country trash was there frae the backs o’ Straven and Douglasdale, and since a’ the godly and reputable folk thereaways hae ta’en to the hills, nane but the rabble are left. So as we were gaun on canny, and sellin’ our bits o’ things and daein’ our bits o’ jobs, the drucken folk were dancin’ and cairryin’ on at the ither end. By and by doun the Fair come a drucken gairdener, one John Cree. I ken him weel, a fosy, black-hertit scoondrel as ever I saw. My wife, whom ye know, for it was her that lookit after ye when ye were sick, was standin’ at the side when the man sees her. He comes up to her wi’ his leerin’, blackgairdly face, and misca’s her for a tinkler and a’ that was bad, as if the warst in our tribe wasna better than him. "Mary, she stands back, and bids him get out or she wad learn him mainners. "But he wadna take a tellin’. ’Oh, ho, my bawbee joe,’ says he, ’ye’re braw and high the day. Whae are you to despise an honest man? A wheen tinkler doxies!’ And he took up a stane and struck her on the face. "At this a’ our folk were for pittin’ an end to him there and then. But I keepit them back and bade them let the drucken ful be. Syne he gaed awa’, but the folk o’ the Fair took him up, and we’ve got nocht but ill-words and ill-tongue a’ day. But, by God! they’ll pay for it the morn." And the captain looked long and fiercely into the embers.