The Singletons had serious thoughts of invading some place, or sacking some castle, or making a raid across the border, just to pass the time.

It was like being out of work! They fretted and chafed in their fortress, and nearly fell out among themselves, and very heartily wished some one would give them a pretext for a fight.

But no one did.
It was at least a diversion for them to celebrate the coming of age of the young laird, and the event, which in times of war might have passed scarcely heeded, now became one of mighty importance to these restless Singletons.
They called together every man of the name who could easily be found between the Solway and the Tay.

They hoisted the old family ensign on the castle walls, and by way of mischief some of them displayed the pennant of the Macfies--another rival clan--below it.

They drove in twelve head of oxen, regardless of proprietorship, wherewith to make good cheer at table, and they decked the grand old banqueting-hall with branches and heather, till it was more like a bower than a room.
These and many other things the Singletons did by way of showing honour to the occasion, and when that evening thirty of them sat round the festive board, with the young chief at the head, and with pyramids of beef and mutton and bread before them, their satisfaction and enthusiasm reached its highest pitch.
"Here's luck to the Singleton!" shouted they, "root and branch, laird and clan." And amid cheers, prolonged and deafening, the health was honoured and the banquet proceeded.
"Was ever luck like ours ?" growled one youth to his neighbour.