Now, you Lowland cowards that cannot see a flower bloom but you wish to trample it in the mire, come taste the ground yourself, and be taught that the flower is out of reach!" As he spoke he stepped before the Quakeress, weaponless, but with his eyes like steel.

The half dozen spendthrifts and ne'er-do-weels whom he faced paused but long enough to see that this newly arrived champion had only his bare hands, and was, by token of his dress, undoubtedly their inferior, before setting upon him with drunken laughter and the loudly avowed purpose of administering a drubbing.

The one that came first he sent rolling to the floor.

"Another for Hector!" he said coolly.
The silversmith, ensconced in safety behind the table, wrung his hands.
"Sirs, sirs! Take your quarrel into the street! I'll no have fighting in my store.

What did ye rin in here for, ye Quaker baggage?
Losh! did ye ever see the like of that! Here, boy, ye can get through the window.