“Weel, weel,” said Jeanie, “so it is—so it is; but dinna speak,—dinna speak yet; just tak breath an’ rest ye.”
A cry now got up to mak room, an’ gie air; an’ the crowd fell back an’ made an open space between the twa runners; an’ when Jeanie turned round, lo and behold! she sees John Murdoch, standing wi’ his red wig in ae hand, an’ rubbin’ his lang yellow hair wi’ a napkin in the tither. An’ what he had dune to her an’ to Bawtie, an’ makin’ William lose the race too, made her sae angry, that up she flees to him,—“An’ how daured ye kill our Bawtie?” she cries; “I say, how daured ye kill our Bawtie?”
Wi’ that up starts James, “An’ by my faith, John Murdoch, but ye’ll hae the weight o’ my nieve now;” but before he could do anything, in comes the Earl o’ Lennox between them,—“What, sir, dare to strike your sovereign?”
“Preserve us a’,” cried Jeanie, jumping back, and turning white and red, time about.
“Here,” continued the earl, “seize this fellow, and keep him fast till we can examine into it.”
“No, no, Lennox,” cried the King, panting for breath; “don’t touch him,—don’t touch him; there’s no harm done. But where’s the Miller o’ Doune?—Bring John Marshall.” An’ the cry raise up for the Miller o’ Doune.
“An’ wha wants me?” quoth John Marshall. “I’m here.”
“Your sovereign wants ye,” says ane o’ the courtiers; “sae come ye to King James. An’ now tak aff yer bonnet, an’ stand there.” John Marshall stood still without lookin’ up, waiting to hear what King James wanted wi’ him.
An’ he hears a voice say,—“Look at me, miller, an’ tell me if you think we e’er met before.”
John Marshall raised his een, and after a pause, he says, “An please your Majesty, if it wadna offend your Grace, I wad say that ye had ance been at the Mill o’ Doune.”