so clean you might have
dined upon the causeway. Sprott was within, upon his ledgers, in a low
parlour, very neat and clean, and set out with china and pictures and a
globe of the earth in a brass frame. He was a big-chafted, ruddy, lusty
man, with a crooked hard look to him; and he made us not that much
civility as offer us a seat.

"Is James More Macgregor now in Helvoet, sir?" says I.

"I ken nobody by such a name," says he, impatient-like.

"Since you are so particular," says I, "I will amend my question, and
ask you where we are to find in Helvoet one James Drummond, _alias_
Macgregor, _alias_ James More, late tenant in Inveronachile?"

"Sir," says he, "he may be in Hell for what I ken, and for my part I
wish he was."

"The young lady is that gentleman's daughter, sir," said I, "before
whom, I think you will agree with me, it is not very becoming to discuss
his character."

"I have nothing to make either with him, or her, or you!" cries he in
his gross voice.

"Under your favour, Mr. Sprott," said I, "this young lady is come from
Scotland seeking him, and, by whatever mistake, was given the name of
your house for a direction. An error it seems to have been, but I think
this places both you and me--who am but her fellow-traveller by
accident--under a strong obligation to help our countrywoman."

"Will you ding me daft?" he cries. "I tell ye I ken naething and care
less either for him or his breed. I tell ye the man owes me money."

"That may very well be, sir," said I, who was now rather more angry than
himself. "At least, I owe you nothing; the young lady is under my
protection; and I am neither at all used with these manners, nor in the
least content with them."

As I said this, and without particularly thinking what I did, I drew a
step or two nearer to his table; thus striking, by mere good fortune, on
the only argument that could at all affect the man. The blood left his
lusty countenance.

"For the Lord's sake dinna be hasty, sir!" he cried. "I am truly wishfu'
no' to be offensive. But ye ken, sir, I'm like a wheen guid-natured,
honest, canty auld fallows--my bark is waur nor my bite. To hear me, ye
micht whiles fancy I was a wee thing dour; but na, na! it's a kind auld
fallow at heart, Sandie Sprott! And ye could never imagine the fyke and
fash this man has been to me."

"Very good, sir," said I. "Then I will make that much freedom with your
kindness as trouble you for your last news of Mr. Dr