“A quarrel! no, father,” replied the Perth armourer, “but a measuring of swords with such a one upon St. Leonard’s Crags, for the honour of my bonny city, I confess. Surely you do not think I would quarrel with a brother craftsman?”
“Ah, to a surety, no. But how did your brother craftman come off?”
“Why, as one with a sheet of paper on his bosom might come off from the stroke of a lance; or rather, indeed, he came not off at all, for, when I left him, he was lying in the Hermit’s Lodge daily expecting death, for which Father Gervis said he was in heavenly preparation.”
“Well, any more measuring of weapons?” said the glover.
“Why, truly, I fought an Englishman at Berwick besides, on the old question of the supremacy, as they call it—I am sure you would not have me slack at that debate?—and I had the luck to hurt him on the left knee.”
“Well done for St. Andrew! to it again. Whom next had you to deal with?” said Simon, laughing at the exploits of his pacific friend.
“I fought a Scotchman in the Torwood,” answered Henry Smith, “upon a doubt which was the better swordsman, which, you are aware, could not be known or decided without a trial. The poor fellow lost two fingers.”
“Pretty well for the most peaceful lad in Perth, who never touches a sword but in the way of his profession. Well, anything more to tell us?”
“Little; for the drubbing of a Highlandman is a thing not worth mentioning.”
“For what didst thou drub him, O man of peace?” inquired the glover.