For my ain pairt I hae my doobts; but gien onybody here aboot can tell the trowth on't, yersel' maun be the man; an' sae I hae brought it, to ken what ye wad say til 't." "I'll du my best to lowse yer doobt, laird," returned Jeames.
"Lat's hae a luik at the article." The laird took the horse from his pocket, and handed it to him.
Jeames regarded it for some time with interest, and examined it with care.
"It's a bonny bit o' carved work," he said; "-- a bairnly kin' o' a thing for shape--mair like a timmer horsie; but whan ye come to the ornamentation o' the same, it's o' anither character frae the roon' spots o' reid paint--an' sae's the sma' rubies an' stanes intil 't.
This has taen a heap o' time, an' painsfu' labour--a deal mair nor some o' 's wad think it worth, I doobt! It's the w'y o' the haithens wi' their graven eemages, but what for a horsie like this, I dinna ken.

Hooever, that's naither here nor there: ye didna come to me to speir hoo or what for it was made; it's what is 't made o' 's the question.

It's some yallow-like for siller; an' it's unco black, which is mair like it--but that may be wi' dirt .-- An' dirt I'm thinkin' it maun be, barkit intil the gravin'," he went on, taking a tool and running the point of it along one of the fine lines.

"Troth ohn testit, I wadna like to say what it was.

But it's an unco weicht!--I doobt--na, I mair nor doobt it canna be siller." So saying he carried it to his table, put it down, and went to a corner-cupboard.