voice, "an he had worried our cat, Mr Pleydell would ne'er hae forgien me!"
"Aweel, my doo, the cat's no a prin the waur–so he's no in, ye say?"
"Na, Mr Pleydell's ne'er in the house on Saturday."
"And the morn's Sabbath too," said the querist, "I dinna ken what will be done."
By this time Mannering appeared, and found a tall strong countryman, clad in a coat of pepper-and-salt-coloured mixture, with huge metal buttons, a glazed hat and boots, and a large horse-whip beneath his arm, in colloquy with a slip-shod damsel, who had in one hand the lock of the door, and in the other a pail of whiting, or cam-stane, as it is called, mixed with water—a circumstance which indicates Saturday night in Edinburgh.
"So Mr Pleydell is not at home, my good girl?" said Mannering.
"Aye sir, he's at hame, but he's no in the house: he's aye out on Saturday at e'en."
