Chapter 7 - Page 2

have a broad piece or two in my pouch, come by them as I
could.--But perhaps you will go with me to my father's--that is, for a
night, for to-morrow we expect my uncle Menelaus and all his folk;
but, as I said, for one night----"

The cold-blooded limitation of the offered shelter to one night only,
and that tendered most unwillingly, offended the pride of the
discarded favourite.

"I would rather sleep on the fresh heather, as I have done many a
night on less occasion," said Roland Graeme, "than in the smoky garret
of your father, that smells of peat smoke and usquebaugh like a
Highlander's plaid."

"You may choose, my master, if you are so nice," replied Ralph Fisher;
"you may be glad to smell a peat-fire, and usquebaugh too, if you
journey long in the fashion you propose. You might have said
God-a-mercy for your proffer, though--it is not every one that will
put themselves in the way of ill-will by harbouring a discarded
serving-man."

"Ralph," said Roland Graeme, "I would pray you to remember that I have
switched you before now, and this is the same riding-wand which you
have tasted."

Ralph, who was a thickset clownish figure, arrived at his full
strength, and conscious of the most complete personal superiority,
laughed contemptuously at the threats of the slight-made stripling.

"It may be the same wand," he said, "but not the same hand; and that
is as good rhyme as if it were in a ballad. Look you, my Lady's page
that was, when your switch was up, it was no fear of you, but of your
betters, that kept mine down--and I wot not what hinders me from
clearing old scores with this hazel rung, and showing you it was your
Lady's livery-coat which I spared, and not your flesh and blood,
Master Roland."

In the midst of his rage, Roland Graeme was just wise enough to see,
that by continuing this altercation, he would subject himself to very
rude treatment from the boor, who was so much older and stronger than
himself; and while his antagonist, with a sort of jeering laugh of
defiance, seemed to provoke the contest, he felt the full bitterness
of his own degraded condition, and burst into a passion of tears,
which he in vain endeavoured to conceal with both his hands.

Even the rough churl was moved with the distress of his quondam
companion.

"Nay, Master Roland," he said, "I did but as 'twere jest with thee--I
would not harm thee, man, were it but for old acquaintance sake. But
ever look to a man's inches ere you talk of switching--why, thine arm,
man, is but like a spindle compared to mine.--But hark, I hear old
Adam Woodcock hollowing to his hawk--Come along,