"Well, you dyvour bankrupt," was the first word, "have you brought me my rent?"
"No," answered my gudesire, "I have not; but I have brought your honor Sir Robert's receipt for it."
"How, sirrah? Sir Robert's receipt! You told me he had not given you one."
"Will your honor please to see if that bit line is right?"
Sir John looked at every line, and at every letter, with much attention, and at last at the date, which my gudesire had not observed—"'From my appointed place,'" he read, "'this twenty-fifth of November.' What! That is yesterday! Villain, thou must have gone to Hell for this!"
"I got it from your honor's father; whether he be in Heaven or Hell, I know not," said Steenie.
"I will delate you for a warlock to the privy council!" said Sir John. "I will send you to your master, the devil, with the help of a tar-barrel and a torch!"
"I intend to delate mysell to the presbytery," said Steenie, "and tell them all I have seen last night, whilk are things fitter for them to judge of than a borrel man like me."
Sir John paused, composed himsell, and desired to hear the full history; and my gudesire told it him from point to point, as I have told it you—word for word, neither more nor less.
Sir John was silent again for a long time, and at last he said, very composedly: "Steenie, this story of yours concerns the honor of many a noble family besides mine; and if it be a leasing-making, to keep yourself out of my danger, the least you can expect is to have a red-hot iron driven through your tongue, and that will be as bad as scauding your fingers with a red-hot chanter. But yet it may be true, Steenie; and if the money cast up, I shall not know what to think of it. But where shall we find the Cat's Cradle? There are cats enough about the old house, but I think they kitten without the ceremony of bed or cradle."