year out o’ bishops’ rents (sorrow fa’ the brood o’ bishops and their rents too), nor yet a lease o’ the Archbishopric o’ Glasgow the sell o’t, that they suld let folk tuilzie in their yards, or the wild callants bicker there wi’ snaw-ba’s as they whiles do, that when Mattie and I gae through, we are fain to make a baik and a bow, or rin the risk o’ our harns being knocked out—it suld be looked to.1—But come awa’ wi’ your tale—what fell neist?”

On my mentioning the appearance of Mr. Campbell, Jarvie arose in great surprise, and paced the room, exclaiming, “Robin again!—Robert’s mad—clean wud, and waur—Rob will be hanged and disgrace a’ his kindred, and that will be seen and heard tell o’. My father the deacon wrought him his first hose—odd, I am thinking Deacon Threeplie, the rape-spinner, will be twisting his last cravat. Ay, ay, puir Robin is in a fair way o’ being hanged—But come awa’—come awa’—let’s hear the lave o’t.”

I told the whole story as pointedly as I could; but Mr. Jarvie still found something lacking to make it clear, until I went back, though with considerable reluctance, on the whole story of Morris, and of my meeting with Campbell at the house of Justice Inglewood. Mr. Jarvie inclined a serious ear to all this, and remained silent for some time after I had finished my narrative.

“Upon all these matters I am now to ask your advice, Mr. Jarvie, which, I have no doubt, will point out the best way to act for my father’s advantage and my own honour.”

“Ye’re right, young man—ye’re right,” said the Bailie. “Aye take the counsel of those who are aulder and wiser than yoursell, and binna like the godless Rehoboam, who took the advice o’ a wheen beardless callants, neglecting the auld counsellors who had sate at the feet o’ his father Solomon, and, as it was weel put by Mr. Meiklejohn, in his lecture on the chapter, were doubtless partakers of his sapience. But I maun hear naething about honour—we ken naething here but about credit. Honour is a homicide and a bloodspiller, that gangs about making frays in the street; but Credit is a decent honest man, that sits at hame, and makes the pat play.”

“Assuredly, Mr. Jarvie,” said our friend Owen, “credit is the sum total; and if we can but save that, at whatever discount——”

“Ye are right, Mr. Owen—ye are right; ye speak weel and wisely; and I trust bowls will row right, though they are awee ajee e’enow. But touching Robin, I am of opinion he will befriend this young man if it is in his power. He has a gude heart, puir Robin; and though I lost a matter o’ twa hundred punds wi’ his former engagements, and haena muckle expectation ever to see back my thousand pund Scots that he promises me e’enow, yet I will never say but what Robin means fair by a’ men.”

“I am then to consider him,” I replied, “as an honest man?”

“Umph!” replied Jarvie, with a precautionary sort of cough,—“Ay, he has a kind o’ Hieland honesty—he’s honest after a sort, as they say. My father the deacon used aye to laugh when he tauld me how that byword came up. Ane Captain Costlett was cracking crouse about his loyalty to King Charles, and Clerk Pettigrew (ye’ll hae heard mony a tale about him) asked him after what manner he served the king, when he was fighting again him at Wor’ster in Cromwell’s army; and Captain Costlett was a ready body, and said that he served him after a sort. My honest father used to laugh weel at that sport—and sae the byword came up.”

“But do you think,” I said, “that this man will be able to serve me after a sort, or should I trust myself to this place of rendezvous which he has given me?”

“Frankly and fairly, it’s worth trying. Ye see yoursell there’s some risk in your staying here. This bit body Morris has gotten a custom-house place doun at Greenock—that’s a port on the Firth doun by here; and tho’ a’ the warld kens him to be but a twa-legged creature, wi’ a goose’s head and a hen’s heart, that goes about on the quay plaguing folk about permits, and cockits, and dockits, and a’ that vexatious trade,

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