“But we’ll beat her off, mother,” rejoined Martha, with a spirit which Mr Pollock or any other lawyer might have admired; “and,” continued Martha, with a smile, “we will say nothing about the _strawberry_.” “Nothing, dear,” rejoined the mother; “that strawberry is worth all the lands of Gorthley.” Of which enigmatical strawberry they said no more; but that is no reason why we should not say something of it when the proper time comes, of which, by the rules of our art, we are the best judges. Meanwhile Mr Pollock, having despatched the other feline, returned. “And now, madam,” said he, as he took his seat, “I am ready to hear you.” “You know, Mr Pollock,” resumed her ladyship, “that the entail of Gorthley provides that the property shall go to the eldest heir female in the event of there being no heir male.” “We all know that, madam,” said the writer; “and if we had any doubt of it a certain paper in that green box there would very soon clear up our vision. But the question is, which of the two young ladies, Sarah or Martha, first saw the light of day?” “No question at all,” rejoined the lady. “Martha was the first-born.” “Yes, madam, I know, and knew before, that that is your opinion; but you are perhaps not aware that Gorthley himself told me, some time before he died, that Sarah was the first-born; and so we have here, so far as the testimony goes, one witness against another.” “And what knew he about it?” retorted she, sharply. “He was not present at the birth to see; while I fancy you won’t deny I was.” Whereupon Mr Pollock, getting into the mistake that her ladyship was drolling, and being a droll himself, said, laughing, “Why, madam, no man could deny the necessity of your being present any more than in the case of Girzel Jamphrey, who said to the people who were pressing on to see her burnt as a witch on the sands at Dundee, ‘You needna be in sic a hurry; there will be nae sport till I come.’” Whereat Lady Gorthley tightened the strings she had allowed to get loose. “It’s not a matter to joke about, sir,” she said. “Though I am not a witch, I say, and will maintain, that I am a better witness to the fact of which of the twins was born first than Gorthley could possibly be.” “Still, madam,” continued the writer, “I fear it is only a comparison between the value of two ciphers; the one may look bigger than the other, but each is equal to nothing. It is true that we men don’t know much of these things, yet--I beg pardon, the subject is a little delicate--we know that when a lady bears twins she doesn’t take the first and mark it before she bears the second; and then if she doesn’t mark it in the very nick of time, it’s of no use, because the two babies get mixed in the bath, as an Irishman would say, and their being so like as one strawberry to another, no one can say that the one is not the other, or the other not the one.”