Mr. Keelevin trembled and grew pale; and the advocate, recovering full possession of his assurance, proceeded,-- ‘And so ye think, Mr. Walkinshaw, that the two hands make all the difference between a man and a parrot?’ ‘No, no, sir,’ replied Walter, ‘I dinna think that,--for ye ken the beast has feathers.’ ‘And why have not men feathers?’ ‘That’s no a right question, sir, to put to the like o’ me, a weak human creature;--ye should ask their Maker,’ said Walter gravely. The advocate was again repulsed; Pitwinnoch sat doubting the intelligence of his ears, and George shivering from head to foot: a buzz of satisfaction pervaded the whole Court. ‘Well, but not to meddle with such mysteries,’ said Mr. Threeper, assuming a jocular tone, ‘I suppose you think yourself a very clever fellow?’ ‘At some things,’ replied Walter modestly; ‘but I dinna like to make a roos o’ mysel.’ ‘And pray now, Mr. Walkinshaw, may I ask what do you think you do best?’ ‘Man! an ye could see how I can sup curds and ream--there’s no ane in a’ the house can ding me.’ The sincerity and exultation with which this was expressed convulsed the Court, and threw the advocate completely on his beam-ends. However, he soon righted, and proceeded,-- ‘I don’t doubt your ability in that way, Mr. Walkinshaw; and I dare say you can play a capital knife and fork.’ ‘I’m better at the spoon,’ replied Walter laughing. ‘Well, I must confess you are a devilish clever fellow.’ ‘Mair sae, I’m thinking, than ye thought, sir.--But noo, since,’ continued Walter, ‘ye hae speer’t so many questions at me, will ye answer one yoursel?’ ‘Oh, I can have no possible objection to do that, Mr. Walkinshaw.’ ‘Then,’ said Walter, ‘how muckle are ye to get frae my brother for this job?’ Again the Court was convulsed, and the questioner again disconcerted. ‘I suspect, brother Threeper,’ said the Sheriff, ‘that you are in the wrong box.’ ‘I suspect so too,’ replied the advocate laughing; but, addressing himself again to Walter, he said,-- ‘You have been married, Mr. Walkinshaw?’ ‘Aye, auld Doctor Denholm married me to Betty Bodle.’ ‘And pray where is she?’ ‘Her mortal remains, as the headstone says, lie in the kirkyard.’ The countenance of Mr. Keelevin became pale and anxious--George and Pitwinnoch exchanged smiles of gratulation. ‘You had a daughter?’ said the advocate, looking knowingly to the jury, who sat listening with greedy ears. ‘I had,’ said Walter, and glanced anxiously towards his trembling agent. ‘And what became of your daughter?’ No answer was immediately given--Walter hung his head, and seemed troubled; he sighed deeply, and again turned his eye inquiringly to Mr. Keelevin. Almost every one present sympathized with his emotion, and ascribed it to parental sorrow. ‘I say,’ resumed the advocate, ‘what became of your daughter?’ ‘I canna answer that question.’ The simple accent in which this was uttered interested all in his favour still more and more.