‘What shall we do without you?’ exclaimed Mary Seton, who took James Geddes under her special protection, and vowed, in her pert way, that he was infinitely more sane than half the Queen’s advisers. ‘We cannot let you go—you are the only amusement we have!’
‘There’ll be no lack of fules the morn,’ answered James, with a look of comical disgust; ‘’deed they may call it Follyrood now, with gude cause. Have ye no heard tell of the braw doings in the Queen’s Park? Troth, ye’ll be able to wale your Joes the morn! Every lass her lad! And they riding mother-naked every man o’ them. Na, na; they’re no wanting fules at court i’ the noo, an’ I’ll just tak’ my foot in my hand, an’ turn wise-like mysel’.’
‘Why, the masque will only be six against six as usual,’ answered Mary Beton, characteristically disposed to take a matter-of-fact view of the proceedings, ‘six savages and six amazons. I have seen the dresses; and very complete they are. What is there in that to displease you, James? I thought you dearly loved a festival or a frolic.’
‘I’ll no gang till I’ve had my denner,’ answered James; ‘but I’ll no bide at Holyrood, once the trade is overstocked, as it is like to be. I’ll just gang my ways to the Border, an’ take up with stout Earl Bothwell and muckle Dick. He’ll like fine to get word o’ Mistress Seton. Troth, if they measure fules by the foot, ye’ve gotten a grand yane, my bonny doo, to your share; for ye’ve clean bewitched Dick.’
That young lady laughed and blushed, then frowned and looked cross, lastly peeped into the box of comfits for something to stop James’s mouth withal. The latter put on his densest look, and proceeded—
‘Ay, the time’s no what it was. I mind when me and Jenny Colquhoun was the only fules in Holyrood; forbye the French lassie, that was no worth speaking of, and Robin Hamilton the porter. Set him up! to shut the wicket in my very face last St Andrew’s day, and swear he would break my sconce across, if it wasna as toom as a borderer’s bonnet. Awbody kens he’s a Hamilton, an’ the Hamiltons have aye mair hide than horns. Nae offence to the bonny leddy here, that’s no mindin’ the like o’ me. Aweel, there’s mair fules than three at Holyrood i’ the noo; an’ it’s time for James Geddes to be packing, when he’s the only wise-like body about the place.’
‘Then you think we are all losing our wits,’ remarked Mary Carmichael, as she made up the wood-fire, lit the silver lamp that stood on the table, and set the room in order, according to her wont.
‘Ye’ll no find yours in the Abbey garden, I’m thinkin’,’ replied James, whereat the questioner looked extremely angry and confused. ‘I mind a bonny sang that plays—
“I’ll wager, I’ll wager, I’ll wager wi’ you,
Five hundred merks and ten.”