master still continued to change his ground, and to skip and fly about, until at length the yeoman, encouraged by his wife's words, came hard upon him, and, heaving up his shield a little, he came with a deadly stroke round below it, ettling to cut off both my master's legs. "Hoh!" cried the Gorb, as loud as he could vociferate; and as the little squat yeoman stooped to the stroke, he made such a spring into the air that he leaped fairly over his head; and as he passed like a meteor over above him, he gave him such a slap with the broad side of his sword on the hind cants of the head, that it made the farmer run forward and fall with his nose on the ground. He was again on his feet, however, in an instant, and faced about, while his eyes streamed with water from the sharpness of the stroke. This feat astonished the Latchies; but the wife cried out, "A barley! a barley! foul play!--he's fighting on springs." "Emblem true of thy accursed country!" cried the Gorb, and kicking off his sandals at her head, he took his ground on his bare soles. The combatants set to it again; but the yeoman was now on his guard, and fought shy, standing on the defensive. My master soon grew tired of this way of fighting; and, after two or three flying feints at an attack, in a moment he wrenched Latchie's sword from his grasp, and threw it into the air like a sling-stone. The lookers on gazed in amazement,--and the astonished yeoman traced the course of his erratic weapon, which, after forming an arch like a rainbow, lighted at the distance of forty yards. John, the farmer's son, was the first who ventured a remark on the phenomenon, which he did with his accustomed shrewdness, and in the Cumberland brogue, which he had learned by living some years in that district. "Feyther, I thinks thou hast thrown away thee swoard." "Ay," said his father, biting his lip, and looking after it. By this time the Gorb had his sword at Latchie's throat, crying, "Rescue, or no rescue, I say? Yield, traitor, or die." Latchie paid no regard to him. He only bit his lip, looked after his sword, and stood his ground firm without moving, showing a most unyielding and dauntless spirit. The Gorb repeated his threat, but the yeoman paid no further attention to it than before. "What an unlucky accident!" said he. "Had I not thrown away my sword, I would have humbled you." "Do you regret the loss of your sword so much?" said the Gorb. "Will you promise, on the honour of a good yeoman, not to throw it away in like manner again?" "Promise?" said the other: "I will swear on it, and by it, never to part with it in like manner again." "Young man," said my master to me, "run and bring me this brave yeoman's sword." I brought it, and he took it by the point, and delivered it back to the owner with all manner of courtesy. Latchie took it in his hand, and let the point of it slant towards the ground in token of submission.