“Hout tout, man! let that flee stick in the wa',” answered his kinsman; “when the dirt's dry it will rub out—Your father, honest man, could look ower a friend's fault as weel as anither.”
“Ye may be right, Robin,” replied the Bailie, after a moment's reflection; “he was a considerate man the deacon; he ken'd we had a' our frailties, and he lo'ed his friends—Ye'll no hae forgotten him, Robin?” This question he put in a softened tone, conveying as much at least of the ludicrous as the pathetic.
“Forgotten him!” replied his kinsman—“what suld ail me to forget him?—a wapping weaver he was, and wrought my first pair o' hose.—But come awa', kinsman,
Come fill up my cap, come fill up my cann,
Come saddle my horses, and call up my man;
Come open your gates, and let me gae free,
I daurna stay langer in bonny Dundee.”
“Whisht, sir!” said the magistrate, in an authoritative tone—“lilting and singing sae near the latter end o' the Sabbath! This house may hear ye sing anither tune yet—Aweel, we hae a' backslidings to answer for—Stanchells, open the door.”
The jailor obeyed, and we all sallied forth. Stanchells looked with some surprise at the two strangers, wondering, doubtless, how they came into these premises without his knowledge; but Mr. Jarvie's “Friends o' mine, Stanchells—friends o' mine,” silenced all disposition to inquiries. We now descended into the lower vestibule, and hallooed more than once for Dougal, to which summons no answer was returned; when Campbell observed with a sardonic smile, “That if Dougal was the lad he kent him, he would scarce wait to get thanks for his ain share of the night's wark, but was in all probability on the full trot to the pass of Ballamaha”—
“And left us—and, abune a', me, mysell, locked up in the tolbooth a' night!” exclaimed the Bailie, in ire and perturbation. “Ca' for forehammers, sledge-hammers, pinches, and coulters; send for Deacon Yettlin, the smith, an let him ken that Bailie Jarvie's shut up in the tolbooth by a Highland blackguard, whom he'll hang up as high as Haman”—
“When ye catch him,” said Campbell, gravely; “but stay—the door is surely not locked.”
Indeed, on examination, we found that the door was not only left open, but that Dougal in his retreat had, by carrying off the keys along with him, taken care that no one should exercise his office of porter in a hurry.
“He has glimmerings o' common sense now, that creature Dougal,” said Campbell.—“he ken'd an open door might hae served me at a pinch.”