"Stirn, I say, Stirn!" But Stirn had forced his way through the hedge and vanished.

Thus left to his own powers of narrative at secondhand, Mr.Hazeldean now told all he had to communicate,--the assault upon Randal Leslie, and the prompt punishment inflicted by Stirn; his own indignation at the affront to his young kinsman, and his good-natured merciful desire to save the culprit from public humiliation.
The parson, mollified towards the rude and hasty invention of the beer-drinking, took the squire by the hand.

"Ah, Mr.Hazeldean, forgive me," he said repentantly; "I ought to have known at once that it was only some ebullition of your heart that could stifle your sense of decorum.

But this is a sad story about Lenny brawling and fighting on the Sabbath-day.

So unlike him, too.