Baldy put his open hand to the side of his mouth and whispered to the sheriff:
“This beggar man,” he said, “has been misused by a gang of thieves in Torwood Forest.”
“I cannot attend to that now,” rejoined the sheriff with increasing irritation.
“No, no,” continued Baldy suavely, “it’s no that, but he’s got a frightful dunner on the top o’ the head, and he thinks he’s the king.”
“I am the king,” cried the beggar, overhearing the last word of caution, “and I warn you, sir, that you proceed with this execution at your peril. I am James of Scotland, and I forbid the hanging.”
At this moment there broke through the insufficient military guard a wild unkempt figure, whose appearance caused trepidation to the already much-tried sheriff.
“There’s the crazy cobbler again,” he moaned dejectedly. “Now the fat’s all in the fire. I think I’ll hang the three of them, trial or no trial.”
“Oh, your majesty!” cried the cobbler,—and it was hard to say which of the two was the more disreputable in appearance,—“this man Hutchinson is innocent. You will surely not allow the hanging to take place, now you are here.”
“I’ll not allow it, if I can prevent it, and can get this fool of a sheriff to listen.”
“Fool of a sheriff! say you,” stuttered that official in rising anger. “Here, guard, take these two ragamuffins into custody, and see that they are kept quiet till this hanging’s done with. Hutchinson, get up on the scaffold; this is all your fault. Hangman, do your duty.”