‘That’s a droll question to speer at a man,’ replied Walter. ‘A poll parrot thinks weel o’ itsel, which is but a feathered creature, and short o’ the capacity of a man by twa hands.’
Mr. Keelevin trembled and grew pale; and the advocate, recovering full possession of his assurance, proceeded,—
‘And so ye think, Mr. Walkinshaw, that the two hands make all the difference between a man and a parrot?’
‘No, no, sir,’ replied Walter, ‘I dinna think that,—for ye ken the beast has feathers.’
‘And why have not men feathers?’
‘That’s no a right question, sir, to put to the like o’ me, a weak human creature;—ye should ask their Maker,’ said Walter gravely.
The advocate was again repulsed; Pitwinnoch sat doubting the intelligence of his ears, and George shivering from head to foot: a buzz of satisfaction pervaded the whole Court.
‘Well, but not to meddle with such mysteries,’ said Mr. Threeper, assuming a jocular tone, ‘I suppose you think yourself a very clever fellow?’
‘At some things,’ replied Walter modestly; ‘but I dinna like to make a roos o’ mysel.’