Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 20
General
Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 20
Scottish Borders (Scotland) -- Fiction
As she uttered the last word, she flung the door widely and boldly open;
and there entered a figure which might well have appalled even the stout
heart of Margaret Grahame. This figure was that of a man of gigantic
stature and powerful frame, wearing a steel cap and shirt of mail that
glanced through the openings of a leathern doublet by which it was
covered, and in some measure concealed. From a belt which passed over
his right shoulder, depended a sword of dimension corresponding to the
tremendous strength indicated by the proportions of the wearer; and in
another belt, which passed round his middle, and which was joined in
front by a silver clasp, part of whose fashioning displayed two lion's
heads, was stuck a richly hilted dagger. A small silver bugle horn,
which was suspended from his neck by a chain of the same metal,
completed his appointments.
On the entrance of this formidable figure, the little girl uttered a
scream of terror, and flew to a remote corner of the apartment. The
gigantic stranger smiled, and, turning to her mother, said--
"I am sorry that my appearance is so alarming as to make young ladies
fly me. I would have them believe that I would much sooner protect than
injure them. God forbid it should ever be otherwise. Come hither, my
little primrose, and let me assure thee of all safety at my hands." And
the stranger drew out a silken purse and took from it a small gold coin,
which he seemed desirous of presenting to the little fugitive fair one.
He was, however, interrupted.
"Never mind her, sir; never mind her," said her mother, who now
perceived that her guest was a person apparently of some note; "she'll
sune learn no to be sae frichtened for the men. Sit doon, sir, sit doon.
Tak a seat, and throw aff your wat jerkin, and I'll gie ye a pair o' my
puir gude-man's stockins to draw on, for I'm sure ye're soakit to the
skin; and a pair o' slippers to yer feet." And while the kindly-hearted
and hospitable woman was thus rattling away, she was actively employed
in seeking out the various comforts which she enumerated.
In a very few minutes after, the portly figure of the stranger filled
the favourite arm-chair, by the fire, of Mrs Grahame's late husband, in
as comfortable a plight as the hospitable attentions of his hostess
could place him. Several of these, however, he declined. He would not
part with his boots, nor divest himself of any part of his apparel or
appointments, excepting his steel cap and sword, both of which he placed
on the floor close by his chair, as if desirous that they should be
within reach on the slightest appearance of emergency.
"Now, my good dame," said the stranger, after enjoying for a few minutes
the invigorating warmth of a blazing fire, which his hostess had heaped
with faggots for his comfort, "I must be plain enough to tell ye that I
am famishing of hunger, and that these barley bannocks of yours look
most tempting."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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