Old John Spence was an early riser. He did not share Charles Lamb's fears of indulging in the ambition of rising with the sun. The latter part of the day was to him a period of repose, a siesta of half-sleepy meditation, which not unfrequently passed into a deep-toned sleep in his arm-chair. In a lucid interval, during the evening of Jock's arrival, he had been considering how he might best help the Sergeant out of his difficulties. He had not for a moment accepted of Jock's policy suggesting his lordship's interference in the great Drumsylie case. With the instinct of an old servant, he felt that such presumption on his part was out of the question. So he had informed Jock, bidding him not to think of his lordship, who would not and could not do anything in the matter. He assured him at the same time that he would try what could be done by himself to muzzle Smellie. Having accordingly matured his plans, he was ready at daybreak to execute them. He embraced therefore the first opportunity of taking Hugh into a small closet, where the little business which required writing was generally transacted, and where a venerable escritoire stood, in whose drawers and secret recesses were carefully deposited all papers relating to that department of his lordship's estate over which John was chief.
The door having been carefully barred, the old keeper seated in an arm-chair, and his son Hugh at the escritoire, John said, "Get the pen and paper ready."
"A' richt," said Hugh, having mended his pen and tried it on his thumb-nail, looking at it carefully as he held it up in the light.
"Weel, then, begin! Write--'Sir;' no' 'Dear Sir,' but jist 'Sir'. Of coorse ye'll pit the direction 'To Mr. Peter Smellie'. Eh?--halt a wee--should I say Mr. or plain Peter? Jist mak' it plain Peter--say, 'To Peter Smellie'."
"To Peter Smellie," echoed Hugh.
"John Spence, keeper--or raither John Spence, senior keeper--wishes tae tell ye that ye're a scoondrill."
After writing these words with the exception of the last, Hugh said, "Be canny, faither, or maybe he micht prosecute you."
"Let him try't!" replied John; "but let scoondrill stan'. It's the vera pooder and shot o' my letter; wi'oot that, it's a' tow and colfin."
"I'm no' sure, faither, if I can spell't," said Hugh, who did not like the more than doubtful expression, and put off the writing of it by asking, "Hoo, faither, d'ye spell scoondrill?"
"What ither way but the auld way?"