"Work, Master, work. What work now?" said they all in one breath.
"Give your master there a toasting for his insolence," said Michael.
The pages giggled for joy; the seneschal kneeled and roared out for mercy, and, as a motive for granting it to him, said the strangers were at the gate. The pages had already laid their fangs on him; but the Master, on the arrival of the strangers being brought to his mind, ordered the imps to desist. This they did on the instant; but, without delay, rushed on Michael himself, as if they would tear him to pieces. He threatened, cursed, and dared them to touch him; but they seemed nothing daunted by all he said, but danced around him with demoniac gestures, crying still out with one voice:—
"Work, Master, work; work we need;
Work for the living, or for the dead:
Since we are called, work we will have,
For the master, or for the slave.
Work, Master, work. What work now?"
"Miserable wight that I am!" cried the mighty Master. "Then, d—d dwarfs, since it must be so, bring the slave back, and let him have three varieties, and no more."
Gourlay had made his escape with all expedition, but it was not long ere they overtook him, and brought him back, leading him in the most grotesque manner that can well be conceived. They then began to twirl him about, first with his face one way and then another; and, latest adventures making the strongest impressions on their wicked imaginations, by some devilish slight they transformed him into the shape of a mule, and practised on him all the wanton cruelties they had so lately done on the friar's, seeming to enjoy the sport all the while with redoubled zest. They next changed him into a dog; and, tying a cannister, containing some small stones to his tail, they pursued him round and round the room, and finally out into the yard, with long whips, every one breaking at him, and giving him a lash as he came by. This caused him always now and then to exert himself with such speed that the cannister was sometimes hitting him on the head with a loud rattling yerk, sometimes on the back, and all over the body, while the poor steward was running, yelping in the uttermost desperation. The friar beheld part of the sport from his grate, but little wist that it was the hated seneschal that was suffering, else he would have doubtless enjoyed the scene in no ordinary degree. The rest of the embassy also saw it from the outer gate, where they now stood rapping and calling without being regarded, the pages being too intent on their game to pay the least attention to such as they.
"Let alane the poor tike, like good lads," cried muckle Charlie, "and come and open the yett. What ill has the silly beast done to you?"
"They bring me in mind o' Jock Harper's terriers," said Gibbie, "that wad rather do ill for the sake o' doing it, than do ought that was good or right for a' the warld."
"I hate to see a colley-shangie," said the poet; "there is nothing sublime or romantic in it."
"They're nae canny couts thae three chaps," said Charlie; "Corby wadna look at them, and he kens things gayan weel. We maun just hae a wee patience till they be done wi' their chace. It's a queer kind o' place this."