“Ach! mine goot old friend, Maister Edie, and dat is not so very unlikely, if Sir Arthurs will quarrel wit his goot friends to please Mr. Oldenbuck.—And so you do tink dat dis golds and silvers belonged to goot Mr. Malcolm Mishdigoat?”
“Troth do I, Mr. Dousterdeevil.”
“And you do believe dat dere is more of dat sorts behind?”
“By my certie do I—How can it be otherwise?—Search—No. I—that is as muckle as to say, search and ye’ll find number twa. Besides, yon kist is only silver, and I aye heard that’ Misticot’s pose had muckle yellow gowd in’t.”
“Den, mine goot friends,” said the adept, jumping up hastily, “why do we not set about our little job directly?”
“For twa gude reasons,” answered the beggar, who quietly kept his sitting posture;—“first, because, as I said before, we have naethi
