"This story of yours, friend Edie, is an absolute enigma, and would require a second OEdipus to solve it—who OEdipus was, I will tell you some other time if you remind me—However, whether it be owing to the wisdom or to the maggots with which you compliment me, I am strongly disposed to believe that you have spoken the truth, the rather that you have not made any of those obtestations of the superior powers, which I observe you and your comrades always make use of when you mean to deceive folks." (Here Edie could not suppress a smile.) "If, therefore, you will answer me one question, I will endeavour to procure your liberation." "If ye'll let me hear the question," said Edie, with the caution of a canny Scotchman, "I'll tell you whether I'll answer it or no." "It is simply," said the Antiquary, "Did Dousterswivel know anything about the concealment of the chest of bullion?" "He, the ill-fa'ard loon!" answered Edie, with much frankness of manner— "there wad hae been little speerings o't had Dustansnivel ken'd it was there—it wad hae been butter in the black dog's hause." "I thought as much," said Oldbuck. "Well, Edie, if I procure your freedom, you must keep your day, and appear to clear me of the bail-bond, for these are not times for prudent men to incur forfeitures, unless you can point out another Aulam auri plenam quadrilibrem—another Search, No. I." "Ah!" said the beggar, shaking his head, "I doubt the bird's flown that laid thae golden eggs—for I winna ca' her goose, though that's the gait it stands in the story-buick—But I'll keep my day, Monkbarns; ye'se no loss a penny by me—And troth I wad fain be out again, now the weather's fine—and then I hae the best chance o' hearing the first news o' my friends." "Well, Edie, as the bouncing and thumping beneath has somewhat ceased, I presume Bailie Littlejohn has dismissed his military preceptor, and has retired from the labours of Mars to those of Themis—I will have some conversation with him—But I cannot and will not believe any of those wretched news you were telling me." "God send your honour may be right!" said the mendicant, as Oldbuck left the room. The Antiquary found the magistrate, exhausted with the fatigues of the drill, reposing in his gouty chair, humming the air, "How merrily we live that soldiers be!" and between each bar comforting himself with a spoonful of mock-turtle soup. He ordered a similar refreshment for Oldbuck, who declined it, observing, that, not being a military man, he did not feel inclined to break his habit of keeping regular hours for meals—"Soldiers like you, Bailie, must snatch their food as they find means and time. But I am sorry to hear ill news of young Taffril's brig." "Ah, poor fellow!" said the bailie, "he was a credit to the town—much distinguished on the first of June." "But," said Oldbuck, "I am shocked to hear you talk of him in the preterite tense."