s my gudesire described. What was
waur, he had unluckily not mentioned to any living soul of them his
purpose of paying his rent. Ae quean had noticed something under his
arm, but she took it for the pipes.

Sir John Redgauntlet ordered the servants out of the room, and then said
to my gudesire, "Now, Steenie, ye see you have fair play; and, as I have
little doubt ye ken better where to find the siller than ony other body,
I beg, in fair terms, and for your own sake, that you will end this
fasherie; for, Stephen, ye maun pay or flit."

"The Lord forgie your opinion," said Stephen, driven almost to his wit's
end--"I am an honest man."

"So am I, Stephen," said his honour; "and so are all the folks in the
house, I hope. But if there be a knave amongst us, it must be he that
tells the story he cannot prove." He paused, and then added, mair
sternly, "If I understand your trick, sir, you want to take advantage
of some malicious reports concerning things in this family, and
particularly respecting my father's sudden death, thereby to cheat me
out of the money, and perhaps take away my character, by insinuating
that I have received the rent I am demanding.--Where do you suppose this
money to be?--I insist upon knowing."

My gudesire saw everything look sae muckle against him, that he grew
nearly desperate--however, he shifted from one foot to another, looked
to every corner of the room and made no answer.

"Speak out, sirrah," said the Laird, assuming a look of his father's, a
very particular ane, which he had when he was angry--it seemed as if the
wrinkles of his frown made that self-same fearful shape of a horse's
shoe in the middle of his brow;--"Speak out, sir! I _will_ know your
thoughts;--do you suppose that I have this money?"

"Far be it frae me to say so," said Stephen.

"Do you charge any of my people with having taken it?"

"I wad be laith to charge them that may be innocent," said my gudesire;
"and if there be anyone that is guilty, I have nae proof."

"Somewhere the money must be, if there is a word of truth in your
story," said Sir John; "I ask where you think it is--and demand a
correct answer?"

"In hell, if you _will_ have my thoughts of it," said my gudesire,
driven to extremity,--"in hell! with your father, his jackanape, and his
silver whistle."

Down the stairs he ran (for the parlour was nae place for him after such
a word), and he heard the Laird swearing blood and wounds behind him, as
fas