"Did not he swear that he would never repeat again to living mortal what I communicated to him?
and therefore, in telling the occurrent to you, he hath made himself a liar." "Thou didst not meet the smith, then," said Simon, "with such a loose baggage as fame reports ?" "Lackaday, not I; perhaps I did, perhaps I did not.

Think, father Simon--I have been a four years married man, and can you expect me to remember the turn of a glee woman's ankle, the trip of her toe, the lace upon her petticoat, and such toys?
No, I leave that to unmarried wags, like my gossip Henry." "The upshot is, then," said the glover, much vexed, "you did meet him on St.Valentine's Day walking the public streets--" "Not so, neighbour; I met him in the most distant and dark lane in Perth, steering full for his own house, with bag and baggage, which, as a gallant fellow, he carried in his arms, the puppy dog on one and the jilt herself--and to my thought she was a pretty one--hanging upon the other." "Now, by good St.John," said the glover, "this infamy would make a Christian man renounce his faith, and worship Mahound in very anger! But he has seen the last of my daughter.

I would rather she went to the wild Highlands with a barelegged cateran than wed with one who could, at such a season, so broadly forget honour and decency.

Out upon him!" "Tush--tush! father Simon," said the liberal minded bonnet maker, "you consider not the nature of young blood.

Their company was not long, for--to speak truth, I did keep a little watch on him--I met him before sunrise, conducting his errant damsel to the Lady's Stairs, that the wench might embark on the Tay from Perth; and I know for certainty, for I made inquiry, that she sailed in a gabbart for Dundee.