sir! But 'tis no child's play to jest us on our Deacon, or, for
that matter, on our Deacon's chamber either. It was his father's
before him: he works in it by day and sleeps in it by night; and
scarce anything it contains but is the labour of his hands. Do
you see this table, Walter? He made it while he was yet a
'prentice. I remember how I used to sit and watch him at his
work. It would be grand, I thought, to be able to do as he did,
and handle edge-tools without cutting my fingers, and getting my
ears pulled for a meddlesome minx! He used to give me his mallet
to keep and his nails to hold; and didn't I fly when he called
for them! and wasn't I proud to be ordered about with them! And
then, you know, there is the tall cabinet yonder; that it was
that proved him the first of Edinburgh joiners, and worthy to be
their Deacon and their head. And the father's chair, and the
sister's workbox, and the dear dead mother's footstool - what are
they all but proofs of the Deacon's skill, and tokens of the
Deacon's care for those about him?

LESLIE. I am all penitence. Forgive me this last time, and I
promise you I never will again.

MARY. Candidly, now, do you think you deserve forgiveness?

LESLIE. Candidly, I do not.

MARY. Then I suppose you must have it. What have you done with
Willie and my uncle?

LESLIE. I left them talking deeply. The dear old Procurator has
not much thought just now for anything but those mysterious