“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” continued Hutchinson in the same tone of exasperating tolerance. “I’ll to St. Ninians and let them know the king’s pardon’s coming. You’ll trot along to Stirling, put on your king’s clothes and then come and set me free. That’s the way we’ll arrange it, my mannie.”
The king made a gesture of despair, but remained silent, and they walked rapidly down the road together. They had quitted the forest, and the village of St. Ninians was now in view. As they approached the place more nearly, Hutchinson was pleased to see that a great crowd had gathered to view the hanging. He seemed to take this as a personal compliment to himself; as an evidence of his popularity.
The two made their way to the back of the great assemblage where a few soldiers guarded an enclosure within which was the anxious sheriff and his minor officials.
“Bless me, Baldy!” cried the sheriff in a tone of great relief, “I thought you had given me the slip.”
“Ye thought naething o’ the kind, sheriff,” rejoined Baldy complacently. “I said I would be here, and here I am.”
“You are just late enough,” grumbled the sheriff. “The people have been waiting this two hours.”
“They’ll think it all the better when they see it,” commented Baldy. “I was held back a bit on the road. Has there no message come from the king?”
“Could you expect it, when the crime’s treason?” asked the sheriff impatiently, “but there’s been a cobbler here that’s given me more bother than twenty kings, and cannot be pacified. He says the king’s away from Stirling, and this execution must be put by for another ten days, which is impossible.”
“Allow me a word in your ear privately,” said the beggar to the sheriff.
“I’ll see you after the job’s done,” replied the badgered man. “I have no more places to give away, you must just stand your chances with the mob.”