True to his friendly pose, the lawyer walked round the cart, running his eye over it and the animal in its shafts with as knowing an expression as he could assume. As he paused beside Rob Roy he laid his hand suddenly on his quarter, after the manner of people unaccustomed to horses; the nervous little beast made a plunge forward which nearly knocked Jimmy down, and sent Barclay flying to the sanctuary of the doorstep. His good-humour took flight also. ‘Nasty, restive brute!’ he exclaimed. The boy gave him an expressive look; he was not apt to pay much attention to anyone, whether gentle or simple, beyond the pale of his own affairs, and Barclay had hitherto been outside his world. He now entered it as an object of contempt. The sudden rattle of the cart brought Granny to the door. ‘That is a very dangerous horse of yours,’ said the lawyer, turning round. ‘Whisht! whisht!’ exclaimed she, ‘it was the laird got yon shelt to him; he’ll na thole[1] to hear ye speak that way.’ [1] Endure. ‘May I come in?’ asked Barclay, recalled to his object. She ushered him into the cottage. ‘Yes, yes, I have heard about that,’ he remarked, as he sat down. ‘No doubt Jimmy is proud of the episode; it is not often a gentleman concerns himself so much about his tenant’s interests. I dare say, Mrs. Stirk, that you have no wish to change your landlord, eh?’ ‘No for onybody hereabout,’ said the old woman. ‘Then I gather that you are no admirer of our gentry?’ ‘A’ wasna saying that.’ ‘But perhaps you meant it. We do not always say what we mean, do we?’ said Barclay, raising his eyebrows facetiously. ‘Whiles a’ do,’ replied the Queen of the Cadgers, with some truth. ‘You speak your mind plainly enough to Mr. Speid, I believe,’ said Barclay. ‘Wha tell’t ye that?’ ‘Aha! everything comes round to me in time, I assure you, my good soul; my business is confidential--very confidential. You see, as a lawyer, I am concerned with all the estates in this part of the country.’ ‘Where the money is, there will the blayguards be gathered together,’ said Granny, resenting the patronage in his tone. ‘Come, come! that is surely rather severe,’ said Barclay, forcing a smile. ‘You don’t treat the laird in that way when he comes to see you, I am sure; he would not come so often if you did.’ ‘He canna come ower muckle for me.’ ‘What will you do when he gets a wife? He will not have so much idle time then.’ ‘Maybe she’ll come wi’ him.’ ‘That’ll depend on what kind of lady she is,’ observed Barclay; ‘she may be too proud.’ ‘Then Whanland ’ll no tak’ her,’ replied Granny decisively.