‘Really, Mr. Keelevin, I won’er to hear you,’ replied the natural, with great sincerity; ‘the mouth’s the only trance-door that I ken to the belly.’ ‘Weel, weel,’ again exclaimed his friend; ‘mak a kirk and a mill o’t; but be ruled by me, and let us draw up a reasonable agreement.’ ‘I’m thinking, Mr. Keelevin, that ye dinna ken that I hae made a paction with mysel to sign nae law-papers, for fear it be to the injury of Betty Bodle.’ ‘Betty Bodle!’ said Gabriel Pitwinnoch, eagerly; ‘she has been long dead.’ ‘Ah!’ said Walter, ‘that’s a’ ye ken about it. She’s baith living and life-like.’ Mr. Keelevin was startled and alarmed at this; but abstained from saying any thing. Gabriel also said nothing; but looked significantly to his client, who interposed, and put an end to the conversation. ‘Having gone so far,’ said he, ‘I could, with no respect for my own character, allow the proceedings to be now arrested. It is, therefore, unnecessary either to consider your suggestion, or to hold any further debate here on the subject.’ Mr. Keelevin made no reply to this; but said, as he had something to communicate in private to his client, he would carry him to Glasgow for that night. To so reasonable and so professional a proposal no objection was made. Walter himself also at once acquiesced, on the express condition, that he was not to be obliged to sign any law-papers. CHAPTER LVII Next day, when the Court again assembled, Walter was there, seated beside his agent, and dressed in his best. Every eye was directed towards him; and the simple expression of wonder, mingled with anxiety, which the scene around him occasioned, gave an air of so much intelligence to his features, which were regular, and, indeed, handsome, that he excited almost universal sympathy; even Mr. Threeper was perplexed, when he saw him, at the proper time, rise from beside his friend, and, approaching the bottom of the table, make a slow and profound bow, first to the Sheriff and then to the jury. ‘You are Mr. Walkinshaw, I believe?’ said Mr. Threeper. ‘I believe I am,’ replied Walter, timidly. ‘What are you, Mr. Walkinshaw?’ ‘A man, sir.--My mother and brother want to mak me a daft ane.’ ‘How do you suspect them of any such intention?’ ‘Because ye see I’m here--I would na hae been here but for that.’ The countenance of honest Keelevin began to brighten, while that of George was clouded and overcast. ‘Then you do not think you are a daft man?’ said the advocate. ‘Nobody thinks himsel daft. I dare say ye think ye’re just as wise as me.’ A roar of laughter shook the Court, and Threeper blushed and was disconcerted; but he soon resumed, tartly,-- ‘Upon my word, Mr. Walkinshaw, you have a good opinion of yourself. I should like to know for what reason?’ ‘That’s a droll question to speer at a man,’ replied Walter. ‘A poll parrot thinks weel o’ itsel, which is but a feathered creature, and short o’ the capacity of a man by twa hands.’