"Twenty to pick and choose upon, always with your honour's leave," resumed the respondent.
"But James Ratcliffe is your present name?—what is your trade?"
"I canna just say, distinctly, that I have what ye wad ca' preceesely a trade."
"But," repeated the magistrate, "what are your means of living—your occupation?"
"Hout tout—your honour, wi' your leave, kens that as weel as I do," replied the examined.
"No matter, I want to hear you describe it," said the examinant.
"Me describe!—and to your honour!—far be it from Jemmie Ratcliffe," responded the prisoner.
"Come, sir, no trifling—I insist on an answer."
"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.