“O yes, mine friend—tied yonder by de stile,” responded the adept.
“Weel, I hae just ae word to the bargain—there sall nane o’ my gear gang on your beast’s back.”
“What was it as you would be afraid of?” said the foreigner.
“Only of losing sight of horse, man, and money,” again replied the gaberlunzie.
“Does you know dat you make one gentlemans out to be one great rogue?”
“Mony gentlemen,” replied Ochiltree, “can make that out for themselves— But what’s the sense of quarrelling?—If ye want to gang on, gang on—if no—I’ll gae back to the gude ait-straw in Ringan Aikwood’s barn that I left wi’ right ill-will e’now, and I’ll pit back the pick and shule whar I got them.”
Dousterswivel deliberated a moment, whether, by suffering Edie to depart, he might not secure the whole of the expected wealth for his own exclusive use. But the want of digging implements, the uncertainty whether, if he had them, he could clear out the grave to a sufficient depth without assistance, and, above all, the reluctance which he felt, owing to the experience of the former night, to venture alone on the terrors of Misticot’s grave, satisfied him the attempt would be hazardous. Endeavouring, therefore, to assume his usual cajoling tone, though internally incensed, he begged “his goot friend Maister Edie Ochiltrees would lead the way, and assured him of his acquiescence in all such an excellent friend could propose.”
“Aweel, aweel, then,” said Edie, “tak gude care o’ your feet amang the lang grass and the loose stones. I wish we may get the light keepit in neist, wi’ this fearsome wind—but there’s a blink o’ moonlight at times.”
Thus saying, old Edie, closely accompanied by the adept, led the way towards the ruins, but presently made a full halt in front of them.
“Ye’re a learned man, Mr. Dousterdeevil, and ken muckle o’ the marvellous works o’ nature—Now, will ye tell me ae thing?—D’ye believe in ghaists and spirits that walk the earth?—d’ye believe in them, ay or no?”