table"
(as it was called at Craig Fernie) on a tray.

"What the deuce were you waiting for?" asked Arnold. "I told you to come
in."

"And _I_ tauld _you,_" answered Mr. Bishopriggs, "that I wadna come in
without knocking first. Eh, man!" he went on, dismissing his second in
command, and laying the cloth with his own venerable hands, "d'ye think
I've lived in this hottle in blinded eegnorance of hoo young married
couples pass the time when they're left to themselves? Twa knocks at the
door--and an unco trouble in opening it, after that--is joost the least
ye can do for them! Whar' do ye think, noo, I'll set the places for you
and your leddy there?"

Anne walked away to the window, in undisguised disgust. Arnold found Mr.
Bishopriggs to be quite irresistible. He answered, humoring the joke,

"One at the top and one at the bottom of the table, I suppose?"

"One at tap and one at bottom?" repeated Mr. Bishopriggs, in high
disdain. "De'il a bit of it! Baith yer chairs as close together as
chairs can be. Hech! hech!--haven't I caught 'em, after goodness knows
hoo many preleeminary knocks at the door, dining on their husbands'
knees, and steemulating a man's appetite by feeding him at the fork's
end like a child? Eh!" sighed the sage of Craig Fernie, "it's a short
life wi' that nuptial business, and a merry one! A mouth for yer billin'
and cooin'; and a' the rest o' yer days for wondering ye were ever such
a fule, and wishing it was a' to be done ower again.--Ye'll be for a
bottle o' sherry wine, nae doot? and a drap toddy afterwards, to do yer
digestin' on?"

Arnold nodded--and then, in obedience to a signal from Anne, joined her
at the window. Mr. Bishopriggs looked after them attentively--observed
that they were talking in whispers--and approved of that proceeding, as
representing another of the established customs of young married couples
at inns, in the presence of third persons appointed to wait on them.

"Ay! ay!" he said, looking over his shoulder at Arnold, "gae to your
deerie! gae to your deerie! and leave a' the solid business o' life to
Me. Ye've Screepture warrant for it. A man maun leave fether and mother
(I'm yer fether), and cleave to his wife. My certie! 'cleave' is
a strong word--there's nae sort o' doot aboot it, when it comes
to 'cleaving!'" He wagged his head thoughtfully, and walked to the
side-table in a corner, to cut the bread.

As he took up the knife, his one wary eye detected a morsel of c