“And it’ll be six weeks longer before we get one again, I’m thinking, unless the king’s party gather,” said his comrade. “We don’t get our fair share of fighting, Tam, that’s what it is.”
“May be the young laird will change all that. But, I say, Donald, I have my doubts of it.”
“What, of the young laird?” exclaimed the others.
“Ay, he’s been brought up in a queer school in England, they tell me, where it’s considered ill-breeding to molest your neighbour.”
“Do you say so? The barbarians! That would never do for us, Tam. But of course the young laird taught them better?”
“They say they taught him worse, and that— Well, never mind. What is auld Geordie saying?”
Auld Geordie was on his feet, announcing with great glee that a convoy of treasure, bound for Edinburgh, was on its way at that moment from Newcastle, so he had heard, and would pass within three miles of Singleton Towers.
“And it’ll be ours, boys,” cried the old man, turning to his comrades; “and the young laird shall win his spurs upon it! What do you say?”
A shout was the only answer. The proposal was one after the Singletons’ own heart. Every one looked towards the young laird.
Singleton was a dark, mild-looking youth, old for his years, and up till the present time a stranger to his clan. For, as has already been hinted, he had but just returned from England, where his boyhood had been spent, to celebrate his coming of age. Great things were expected of him, not only as the head of the clan, but as the son of his brave father, who had died twelve years ago; and since whose death the Singletons had been leaderless. With a bold leader they might achieve anything; and they now welcomed the presence of a chief once more in their midst with all the hope and confidence of sons welcoming a father. It was, therefore, with astonishment and dismay that they heard him reply to auld Geordie’s proposal—