Thou hast the brace-buckle in thy hand.

Doth the little Magdalen go with you to the weapon-show to-morrow ?" "No, father," said Sholto, stammering, "but I was uneasy for the child.

It is full an hour since I heard her voice." "Then," said his father, "finish your work, put out the fire, and go seek your sister." Sholto brought his hands together and made the little inclination of the head which was a sign of filial respect.

Then, solemn as if he had been in his place in the ordered line of the Earl's first levy of archer men, he turned him about and went back to the smithy.
Laurence lay all abroad on the heap of charcoal of which the armourer's welding fire was made.

He was fairly expiring with laughter, and when his brother angrily kicked him in the ribs, he only waggled an ineffectual hand and feebly crowed in his throat like a cock, in his efforts to stifle the sounds of mirth.
"Get up, fool," hissed his angry brother; "help me with this accursed hammer-striking, or I will make an end of such a giggling lout as you.
Here, hold up." And seizing his younger brother by the collar of his blue working blouse, he dragged him upon his feet.
"Now, by the saints," said Sholto, "if you cast your gibes upon me, by Saint Andrew I will break every bone in your idiot's body." "The purple velvet--oh, the purple velvet!" gasped Laurence, as soon as he could recover speech, "and the eyes of Maud Lindesay!" "That will teach you to think rather of the eyes of Laurence MacKim!" cried Sholto, and without more ado he hit his brother with his clinched knuckles a fair blow on the bridge of his nose.
The next moment the two youths were grappling together like wild cats, striking, kicking, and biting with no thought except of who should have the best of the battle.