Now Robert Semple and Ninian Halliburton were two worthy citizens of Dumfries, men of respectability, well provided for by the success of their trade and the saving nature of their wives.  They had come westward to the Thrieve for two purposes:  to deliver a large consignment of goods and gear, foreign provisions and fruits, to the controller of the Earl’s household, and to receive payment therefor, partly in money and partly in the wool and cattle; hides and tallow, which have been the staple products of Galloway throughout her generations.

Their further purposes and intents in venturing so far west of the safe precincts of their burgh of Dumfries may be gathered from their conversation hereinafter to be reported.

Ninian Halliburton was a rosy-faced, clean-shaven man, with a habit of constantly pursing out his lips and half closing his eyes, as if he were sagely deciding on the advisability of some doubtful bargain.  His companion, Robert Semple, had a similar look of shrewdness, but added to it his face bore also the imprint of a sly and lurking humour not unlike that of the master armourer himself.  In time bygone he had kept his terms at the college of Saint Andrews, where you may find on the list of graduates the name of Robertus Semple, written by the foundational hand of Bishop Henry Wardlaw himself.  And upon his body, as the Bailie of Dumfries would often feelingly recall, he bore the memory, if not the marks, of the disciplining of Henry Ogilvy, Master in Arts—­a wholesome custom, too much neglected by the present regents of the college, as he would add.

“This is an excellent affair for us,” said Ninian Halliburton, standing with his hands folded placidly over his ample stomach, only occasionally allowing them to wander in order to feel and approve the pile of the brown velvet out of which the sober gown was constructed.  “A good thing for us, I say, that there are great lords like the Earl of Douglas to keep up the expense of such days as this.”

“It were still better,” answered his companion, dryly, “if the great nobles would pay poor merchants according to their promises, instead of threatening them with the dule tree if they so much as venture to ask for their money.  Neither you nor I, Bailie, can buy in the lowlands of Holland without a goodly provision of the broad gold pieces that are so hard to drag from the nobles of Scotland.”

The rosy-gilled Bailie of Dumfries looked up at his friend with a quick expression of mingled hope and anxiety.

“Does the Earl o’ Douglas owe you ony siller?” he asked in a hushed whisper, “for if he does, I am willing to take over the debt—­for a consideration.”

“Nay,” said Semple, “I only wish he did.  The Douglases of the Black were never ill debtors.  They keep their hand in every man’s meal ark, but as they are easy in taking, they are also quick in paying.”