Your father was a kind man to friends and followers; muckle grace to you, Sir John, to fill his shoon--his boots, I suld say, for he seldom wore shoon, unless it were muils when he had the gout.' 'Aye, Steenie,' quoth the laird, sighing deeply, and putting his napkin to his een, 'his was a sudden call, and he will be missed in the country; no time to set his house in order--weel prepared Godward, no doubt, which is the root of the matter--but left us behind a tangled heap to wind, Steenie .-- Hem! hem! We maun go to business, Steenie; much to do, and little time to do it in.' Here he opened the fatal volume.

I have heard of a thing they call Doomsday Book--I am clear it has been a rental of back-ganging tenants.
'Stephen,' said Sir John, still in the same soft, sleekit tone of voice--'Stephen Stevenson, or Steenson, ye are down here for a year's rent behind the hand--due at last term.' STEPHEN.

'Please your honour, Sir John, I paid it to your father.' SIR JOHN.

'Ye took a receipt, then, doubtless, Stephen; and can produce it ?' STEPHEN.

'Indeed I hadna time, an it like your honour; for nae sooner had I set doun the siller, and just as his honour, Sir Robert, that's gaen, drew it till him to count it, and write out the receipt, he was ta'en wi' the pains that removed him.' 'That was unlucky,' said Sir John, after a pause.