"Gie me your hand, Langley, for ye're a guid mon, an' a forgiving," said the grizzled raider, drawing off his gauntlet; "but ne'er shall it be said that a Scot fell short o' an English borderer in generosity, an' ye hae my word that Langley Peel gaes free o' Wat Armstrong henceforward!"
The two strong men gripped hands, and a right blithe shout went up from the onlookers.
"Take your horse, friend," said the captain, "'tis far to fare afoot," and when the reiver turned at the head of valley and waved his arm, Long John o' the Limp on the Tower top led the ringing cheer that sped him on his way; and the sun came out, and the grass grew green again, and all was peace on the lonely border.
D. H. Parry.
"GILES, my lady bids you drive more warily!"
Lady Saxilby's coachman turned a wrathful face, red with exertion, towards the speaker, Phoebe. But the coach gave a lurch, and the waiting-maid's head disappeared. The road was terrible, and Giles had his work cut out for him. By his side sat my lard's new servant, Roger Clobery; while inside the lumbering vehicle were Lady Saxilby, her two daughters, and the maid, Phoebe. They were travelling down to Iver Hall, the family country seat, and had already been five days on the road.
Joan Saxilby was fourteen, her sister Letty a year younger, and both were pretty, dark-haired lassies. Their father, Lord Saxilby, lay in the Tower, accused of being concerned in a Jacobite plot, and the girls were surprised at their mother leaving town at such a critical time. If the accusation were proved it would certainly go ill with him. There was a son, nineteen, but he had managed to disappear at the time when Lord Saxilby and some others were arrested, and no news of Dick had come for many a day.
The party were descending a hill within a few miles of Iver when Letty, flung bodily on the top of Phoebe, shrieked, "Mother, we are over!"