"That I have hanged the frontless loon for complaining to his grace the chamberlain," replied Angus, tightening the buckle of his gold waist-belt. Montrose and the king exchanged impatient glances. "Another complaint hath been made against Sir James Shaw of Sauchie, governor of your majesty's castle of Stirling, for seizing and slaying several swine belonging to burgesses in the Braid Wynd; and moreover, emptying eight byres and twelve henroosts in one night." "This is only according to law, duke," replied Shaw; "for the king's castellans may freely slay all swine that are found straying upon the causeway; and may also exact kain thrice in the year: at Yule, Pasch, and White Sunday." "But not at Bartilday and Martin-mass too, Sir James," said the chamberlain. "Refer this to the judge of justiciary," said the king. "'Tis long sincesyne, sirs," urged Shaw, doggedly; "besides, the burgesses of Stirling have ever been contumacious villains, and utterly unworthy of all belief." "Lord Home hath seized the leper-house and hospitium of Soltra," continued the chamberlain, again glancing at his notes; "his friend, the Lord Hailes, has stormed the knight of Ravelrig's castle, and burned his three farm-towns. The Steward of Menteith, with five hundred redshanks, hath forced himself upon the burghers of Auchterarder as provost, at the same time sacking them of armour, furniture, and all manner of gear." "Incited by ane auld witch carlin," replied the steward, a grim-looking old man, who wore black armour and a kilt of blue and purple tartan; "they ground their wheat wi' handquerns instead of coming to my new milne on the Ruthven water, quhilk is contrairy to the nineteenth chapter of the Statutes of Gild, and I swore that carlins should weep, and bearded carles should dee for't. Let them appeal to the General Convention of Burghs at Edinburgh, if they choose." "Nay," said the king, in great anger; "let them rather appeal to arms." "Be it sae," said the savage old steward, with a laugh like a growl, as he rattled his long two-handed cliobh on the floor; "what the deil care I? By a wave of my hand I could quench every fire between the muir of Orchill and the kirk of Aberruthven, if they winna thole my yoke." "Upon Rood-day, in last harvest," resumed the chamberlain, "the constable of Dundee cruelly slew, under solemn tryst, the laird of Fetter-angus, at the glack of Newtyle." "Wherefore?" demanded the king, starting from his seat with irrepressible indignation. And the constable replied--