Na, na,' quo' I, depend upon't the lard's been imposed upon wi that wily do-little deevil, Johnnie Howie.' But Lord haud a care o' us, sirs, how can that be,' quo' she again, when the laird's sae book-learned, there's no the like o' him in the country side, and Johnnie Howie has hardly sense eneugh to ca' the cows out o' his kale-yard ?' Aweel, aweel,' quo' I, but ye'll hear he's circumvented him with some of his auld-warld stories,'-- for ye ken, laird, yon other time about the bodle that ye thought was an auld coin"-- "Go to the devil!" said Oldbuck; and then in a more mild tone, as one that was conscious his reputation lay at the mercy of his antagonist, he added--"Away with you down to Monkbarns, and when I come back, I'll send ye a bottle of ale to the kitchen." "Heaven reward your honour!" This was uttered with the true mendicant whine, as, setting his pike-staff before him, he began to move in the direction of Monkbarns.--"But did your honour," turning round, "ever get back the siller ye gae to the travelling packman for the bodle ?" "Curse thee, go about thy business!" "Aweel, aweel, sir, God bless your honour! I hope ye'll ding Johnnie Howie yet, and that I'll live to see it." And so saying, the old beggar moved off, relieving Mr.Oldbuck of recollections which were anything rather than agreeable.
"Who is this familiar old gentleman ?" said Lovel, when the mendicant was out of hearing.
"O, one of the plagues of the country--I have been always against poor's-rates and a work-house--I think I'll vote for them now, to have that scoundrel shut up.

O, your old-remembered guest of a beggar becomes as well acquainted with you as he is with his dish--as intimate as one of the beasts familiar to man which signify love, and with which his own trade is especially conversant.

Who is he ?--why, he has gone the vole-- has been soldier, ballad-singer, travelling tinker, and is now a beggar.

He is spoiled by our foolish gentry, who laugh at his jokes, and rehearse Edie Ochiltree's good thing's as regularly as Joe Miller's." "Why, he uses freedom apparently, which is the soul of wit," answered Lovel.
"O ay, freedom enough," said the Antiquary; "he generally invents some damned improbable lie or another to provoke you, like that nonsense he talked just now--not that I'll publish my tract till I have examined the thing to the bottom." "In England," said Lovel, "such a mendicant would get a speedy check." "Yes, your churchwardens and dog-whips would make slender allowance for his vein of humour! But here, curse him! he is a sort of privileged nuisance--one of the last specimens of the old fashioned Scottish mendicant, who kept his rounds within a particular space, and was the news-carrier, the minstrel, and sometimes the historian of the district.
That rascal, now, knows more old ballads and traditions than any other man in this and the four next parishes.

And after all," continued he, softening as he went on describing Edie's good gifts, "the dog has some good humour.