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"All right, captain; we won't say a word," said Bruce. "We'll go on with our fishing quietly. Come, boys look sharp, and down with your lines." The interest which they had felt in these new proceedings had caused the boys to pull up their hooks; but now, at Bruce's word, they put them in the water once more, and resumed their fishing, only casting sidelong glances at the approaching boat.
In the last year of Robert the Bruce's reign, he became extremely sickly and infirm, chiefly owing to a disorder called the leprosy, which he had caught during the hardships and misfortunes of his youth, when he was so frequently obliged to hide himself in woods and morasses, without a roof to shelter him.
Robertson, who was in a hurry, and yet had a sincere but secret respect for old Bruce's unobtrusive religious feelings, now backed up his mate's request. "I think, sir, that as the mate says, a bit of a short prayer would not be out of place just now, seeing the mess we are in. And that poor old gentleman over there is too done up to stand on his feet. So will you please begin, sir.
Why did the king insist on having bishops in the Church? How did the Presbyterian ministers oppose them? In what way did the king authorize that which corrupted Church services? What device for public worship was ratified by parliament? What significant providence accompanied this daring act? What champion of freedom arose at this time? Wherein lay Bruce's great strength?
Steering had taken Piney's love for the girl who was beyond him as a fine and simple thing, and, taken in that way, it played up to Bruce's love with the rich imageries and colours of youth, and made Bruce younger, quicker for it.
And now the door was free to the very bottom. It was Bruce's turn. Forcing the door open a foot, he took one good look, then let out a whoop. "Gasoline!" he shouted. "Bedons of it!" "May be empty," suggested Barney. "I'll see," said Bruce. An instant more, and having crowded himself through the narrow space, he struck a hundred-gallon steel bedon with his fist. No hollow sound came from it.
Six times he succeeded, but, on the seventh, reversing the moral of Bruce's spider, he smashed the near hind wheel by attempting to slip between a landau and a stone post. Helen was almost thrown into the lake, and, for the life of her, she could not repress a scream.
There was no alternative, and, on the 27th March, 1306, Robert, Earl of Carrick and Lord of Annandale, was crowned King of the Scots at Scone. The ancient royal crown of the Scottish kings had been removed by Balliol in 1296, and had fallen into the hands of Edward, but the Countess of Buchan placed on the Bruce's head a hastily made coronet of gold. It was far from an auspicious beginning.
Mrs Bruce did not leave us long in suspense, but obligingly came out, partly to comment on the low price of mutton and partly to tell the tale of the mammoth mermaid. By rights, of course, Mrs. Bruce's husband should have been the gallant captain of a bark which foundered at sea and sent every man to his grave on the ocean-bed.
Bruce's commission. "I am authorized to state," the stranger added, "in the event of your acquiescing, that the method of procedure will be left entirely to yourself; that no question will be asked or conditions made; the boy will be sent to London or to any other address you may appoint; that £400 a year, quarterly, will be placed to your credit at the Westminster Bank for all necessary expenses; and that a draft in your name, for any further sum that you may think requisite, will be honoured.
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