frostit tattie."

"The wiselike thing, as I think," said Dickson, "would be to turn
the Procurator-Fiscal on to the job. It's his business, no' ours."

"Well, I wadna say but ye're richt,' said the lady.

"What would you do if you were us?" Dickson's tone was subtly
confidential. "My friend here wants to get into the House the
morn with that red-haired laddie to satisfy himself about the facts.
I say no. Let sleeping dogs lie, I say, and if you think the beasts
are mad, report to the authorities. What would you do yourself?"

"If I were you," came the emphatic reply, "I would tak' the first
train hame the morn, and when I got hame I wad bide there. Ye're a
dacent body, but ye're no' the kind to be traivellin' the roads."

"And if you were me?' Heritage asked with his queer crooked smile.

"If I was young and yauld like you I wad gang into the Hoose, and I
wadna rest till I had riddled oot the truith and jyled every
scoondrel about the place. If ye dinna gang, 'faith I'll kilt my
coats and gang mysel'. I havena served the Kennedys for forty year
no' to hae the honour o' the Hoose at my hert....Ye've speired my
advice, sirs, and ye've gotten it. Now I maun clear awa' your supper."

Dickson asked for a candle, and, as on the previous night, went
abruptly to bed. The oracle of prudence to which he had appealed
had betrayed him and counselled folly. But was it folly? For him,
assuredly, for Dickson McCunn, late of Mearns Street, Glasgow,