"I say, Jacob Munroe," sung out Twig--"how are you, old boy? Nuzzling away in the old corner, I see." "Hoo are ye? Hoo are ye the day, Mr Twig?" said a small husky voice from the sanctum. I happened to sit a good deal farther back in the passage than the others of the party (farther _ben_ I believe they would call it in Scotland), and thus could hear the two quill drivers, who were evidently unaware of my being within earshot, communing with each other, while my companions did not. "Saunders," quoth the oldest man from the sanctum, "hae ye coonted the saydels?" "Yes, uncle, twice over, and there is still one amissing." "Vara extraordinar," rejoined the small husky voice from the dark corner--"Vara extraordinar."--Then after a pause--"Hae ye closed aw the accoonts, Saunders?" "No, sir." "Whilk o' them are open yet?" "Mr Wanderson's." "Ane," said the voice. "Jolliffe and Backhouse." "Twa." "Skinflint and Peasemeal." "Three." "His honour the custos." "Four." "And Gabriel Juniper." "Ay, there's five o' them. Weel-a-weel, Saunders, we maunna lose the value of the saydel at no rate--sae just clap in, 'item, _one_ saydel' to ilk ane o' the five ye hae read aff the noo seriawtim--they'll no aw objeck--ane will surely stick--maybe mair." I was a good deal amused with this, and while the others were inspecting some sets of harness, and the quality of several open boxes of soap, I could not resist drawing nearer, under the lee of the partition, to enjoy the fun of the thing. Presently Twig joined me. The conscience of the younger of the two invisibles seemed to rebel somewhat at this national and characteristic method of balancing an account, and making gain of the loss of a saddle. "Really, uncle, _none_ of these parties got the saddle, I am positively certain of _that_." "It's no my fawt if they didna--we canna lose the saydel, Saunders; by no mainer of means." "Oh, but, sir," persisted the other, "Mr Wanderson, for instance, a person you always speak so highly of!" "Haud yere tongue, sir, and do as I bid ye--it'll no be charged again _yere_ conscience, and yere no the keeper o' mine." I was amazingly tickled at this.--After a pause, "Hae ye charged the saydels yet, Saunders?" "Yes, sir," said the clerk, doggedly; "yes, all charged, and I'm just closing the accounts." "Close nane o' the accounts--the devil's in the lad wi' his hurry--close nane o' the accounts, sir--so noo charge twa three odd things till each o' the five, just, to smoor the saydel, ye ken--what are ye glowering at?--do ye no understaun yere mither tongue?--to mak the charge less noticeable, ye gawmarel." "Really, sir," said the younger of the two, "I have not the courage to do so unjust an action of myself."