“Weel, sir,” replied the declarant, “I maun make a clean breast, for ye see, wi’ your leave, I am looking for favour—Describe my occupation, quo’ ye?—troth it will be ill to do that, in a feasible way, in a place like this—but what is’t again that the aught command says?”
“Thou shalt not steal,” answered the magistrate.
“Are you sure o’ that?” replied the accused.—“Troth, then, my occupation, and that command, are sair at odds, for I read it, thou shalt steal; and that makes an unco difference, though there’s but a wee bit word left out.”
“To cut the matter short, Ratcliffe, you have been a most notorious thief,” said the examinant.
“I believe Highlands and Lowlands ken that, sir, forby England and Holland,” replied Ratcliffe, with the greatest composure and effrontery.
“And what d’ye think the end of your calling will be?” said the magistrate.
“I could have gien a braw guess yesterday—but I dinna ken sae weel the day,” answered the prisoner.
“And what would you have said would have been your end, had you been asked the question yesterday?”
“Just the gallows,” replied Ratcliffe, with the same composure.
“You are a daring rascal, sir,” said the magistrate; “and how dare you hope times are mended with you to-day?”