"And what d'ye think the end of your calling will be?" said the
magistrate.
"I could have gien a braw guess yesterday--but I dinna ken sae weel the
day," answered the prisoner.
"And what would you have said would have been your end, had you been
asked the question yesterday?"
"Just the gallows," replied Ratcliffe, with the same composure.
"You are a daring rascal, sir," said the magistrate; "and how dare you
hope times are mended with you to-day?"
"Dear, your honour," answered Ratcliffe, "there's muckle difference
between lying in prison under sentence of death, and staying there of
ane's ain proper accord, when it would have cost a man naething to get up
and rin awa--what was to hinder me from stepping out quietly, when the
rabble walked awa wi' Jock Porteous yestreen?--and does your honour
really think I staid on purpose to be hanged?"
"I do not know what you may have proposed to yourself; but I know," said
the magistrate, "what the law proposes for you, and that is, to hang you
next Wednesday eight days."
"Na, na, your honour," said Ratcliffe firmly, "craving your honour's
pardon, I'll ne'er believe that till I see it. I have kend the law this
mony a year, and mony a thrawart job I hae had wi' her first and last;
but the auld jaud is no sae ill as that comes to--I aye fand her bark
waur than her bite.
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