“His lordship's page, Master George,” answered Moniplies, with a nod of acknowledgment, “if you are minded to speak according to the letter.”
“Hold your saucy tongue,” said his master, “and reply distinctly to the questions you are to be asked.”
“And truly, if it like your pageship,” said the citizen, “for you may remember I have a gift to discover falset.”
“Weel, weel, weel,” replied the domestic, somewhat embarrassed, in spite of his effrontery—“though I think that the sort of truth that serves my master, may weel serve ony ane else.”
“Pages lie to their masters by right of custom,” said the citizen; “and you write yourself in that band, though I think you be among the oldest of such springalds; but to me you must speak truth, if you would not have it end in the whipping-post.”
“And that's e'en a bad resting-place,” said the well-grown page; “so come away with your questions, Master George.”
“Well, then,” demanded the citizen, “I am given to understand that you yesterday presented to his Majesty's hand a Supplication, or petition, from this honourable lord, your master.”
“Troth, there's nae gainsaying that, sir,” replied Moniplies; “there were enow to see it besides me.”
“And you pretend that his Majesty flung it from him with contempt?” said the citizen. “Take heed, for I have means of knowing the truth; and you were better up to the neck in the Nor-Loch, which you like so well, than tell a leasing where his Majesty's name is concerned.”
“There is nae occasion for leasing-making about the matter,” answered Moniplies, firmly; “his Majesty e'en flung it frae him as if it had dirtied his fingers.”