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76 STORIES TOLD BY THE MILLER
cutting another slit, looked through and saw
him in conversation with a man-at-arms, who
had just dismounted from the steaming horse
he held.
He was dressed from head to heel in russet
leather, and a steel helmet, with spreading steel
wings, was on his head. He was tall and brown,
and his white teeth gleamed as he smiled. “Sire,”
he was saying, “ I beg you to forgive this un¬
ceremonious coming. When I saw your tents
on the plain and knew that the Princess was so
near, I could contain myself no longer and
galloped forward with all speed. I will not
dare to enter her presence till my people have
arrived, and I have cast off the dust of the road.
But wait I could not. I hope your Majesty will
forgive me.”
And so this rash, leather-clad soldier was the
King—this careless, dusty fellow who was
loosening his horse’s girths as any common
groom might do ! Did he think to thrust him¬
self thus, without ceremony, into the following
of a royal Princess ?
Behind her curtains she turned away, biting
her lips, and she was still frowning when her
father entered.
cutting another slit, looked through and saw
him in conversation with a man-at-arms, who
had just dismounted from the steaming horse
he held.
He was dressed from head to heel in russet
leather, and a steel helmet, with spreading steel
wings, was on his head. He was tall and brown,
and his white teeth gleamed as he smiled. “Sire,”
he was saying, “ I beg you to forgive this un¬
ceremonious coming. When I saw your tents
on the plain and knew that the Princess was so
near, I could contain myself no longer and
galloped forward with all speed. I will not
dare to enter her presence till my people have
arrived, and I have cast off the dust of the road.
But wait I could not. I hope your Majesty will
forgive me.”
And so this rash, leather-clad soldier was the
King—this careless, dusty fellow who was
loosening his horse’s girths as any common
groom might do ! Did he think to thrust him¬
self thus, without ceremony, into the following
of a royal Princess ?
Behind her curtains she turned away, biting
her lips, and she was still frowning when her
father entered.
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Images and transcriptions on this page, including medium image downloads, may be used under the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International Licence unless otherwise stated. 
| Works by selected Scottish authors > Violet Jacob > Stories told by the miller > (98) |
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| Permanent URL | https://digital.nls.uk/129136201 |
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| Description | By Violet Jacob. |
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| Shelfmark | U.38.g |
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| Attribution and copyright: |
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| Description | Violet Jacob (1863-1946) was born into an aristocratic family who had lived at the House of Dun near Montrose since the 15th century. Her classic novel of the 1745 Jacobite rising, 'Flemington” (1911), was highly regarded by John Buchan and is still in print. Jacob had a deep appreciation of the Angus dialect and countryside, and this is evident in her celebrated Scots language poetry in volumes such as 'Song of Angus' (1915). |
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| Description | A selection of classic out-of-copyright Scottish poetry, prose and children’s stories from the late 19th and early 20th centuries. |
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