“Speir at him, my lord, gien ’t please yer lordship, what it was he hed in ’s han’ whan he lap the park-wa’,” said Bykes.
“Gien ’t be a’ ane till ’s lordship,” said Malcolm, without looking at Bykes, “it wad be better no to speir, for it gangs sair agen me to refeese him.”
“I should like to know,” said the marquis.
“Ye maun trust me, my lord, that I was efter no ill. I gie ye my word for that, my lord.”
“But how am I to know what your word is worth?” returned Lord Lossie, well pleased with the dignity of the youth’s behaviour.
“To ken what a body’s word ’s worth ye maun trust him first, my lord. It’s no muckle trust I want o’ ye: it comes but to this—that I hae rizzons, guid to me, an’ no ill to you gien ye kent them, for not answerin’ yer lordship’s questons. I’m no denyin’ a word ’at Johnny Bykes says. I never hard the cratur ca’d a leear. He’s but a cantankerous argle-barglous body—no fit to be a gatekeeper ’cep it was up upo’ the Binn-side, whaur ’maist naebody gangs oot or in. He wad maybe be safter-hertit till a fellow-cratur syne.”
“Would you have him let in all the tramps in the country?” said the marquis.
“Deil ane o’ them, my lord; but I wad hae him no trouble the likes o’ me ’at fesses the fish to your lordship’s brakfast: sic ’s no like to be efter mischeef.”
“There is some glimmer of sense in what you say,” returned his lordship. “But you know it won’t do to let anybody that pleases get over the park-walls. Why didn’t you go out at the gate?”
“The burn was atween me an’ hit, an’ it’s a lang road roon’.”