"What is your name, my lad?" inquired the coroner's clerk.
"Cuddie McGill, an' it please your worship," replied the shock-headed youth.
"Your age?"
"Anan?"
"How old are you?"
"Ou, ay, just nineteen come St. Andrew's Eve, at night."
"Where do you live?"
"Wi' my maister, Gillie Ferguson, the saddler, at Lone."
"Well now, then, what do you know about this case?" inquired the clerk, who, pen in hand, had been busily taking down the unimportant, preliminary answers of the witness under examination.
"Aweel, thin your worship, I ken just naething of ony account; but I just happen speak what I saw yestreen under the castle wa', and doctor here, he wad hae me come my ways and tell your honor; its naething just," replied Cuddie McGill, scratching his shock head.