ought, "and the siller will soon come out o' the
purse."

His reflections were interrupted by the appearance of a slovenly
maid-servant, with a cotton handkerchief tied round her head, and an
uncleaned sauce-pan in her hand.

"Eh, Maister Bishopriggs," cried the girl, "here's a braw young leddy
speerin' for ye by yer ain name at the door."

"A leddy?" repeated Bishopriggs, with a look of virtuous disgust. "Ye
donnert ne'er-do-weel, do you come to a decent, 'sponsible man like me,
wi' sic a Cyprian overture as that? What d'ye tak' me for? Mark Antony
that lost the world for love (the mair fule he!)? or Don Jovanny that
counted his concubines by hundreds, like the blessed Solomon himself?
Awa' wi' ye to yer pots and pans; and bid the wandering Venus that sent
ye go spin!"

Before the girl could answer she was gently pulled aside from the
doorway, and Bishopriggs, thunder-struck, saw Anne Silvester standing in
her place.

"You had better tell the servant I am no stranger to you," said Anne,
looking toward the kitchen-maid, who stood in the passage staring at her
in stolid amazement.

"My ain sister's child!" cried Bishopriggs, lying with his customary
readiness. "Go yer ways, Maggie. The bonny lassie's my ain kith and kin.
The tongue o' scandal, I trow, has naething to say against that.--Lord
save us and guide us!" he added In another tone, as the girl closed the
door on them, "what brings ye here?"

"I have something to say to you. I am not very well; I must wait a
little first. Give me a chair."

Bishopriggs obeyed in silence. His one available eye rested on Anne,
as he produced the chair, with an uneasy and suspicious attention. "I'm
wanting to know one thing," he said. "By what meeraiculous means, young
madam, do ye happen to ha' fund yer way to this inn?"

Anne told him how her inquiries had been made and what the result had
been, plainly and frankly. The clouded face of Bishopriggs began to
clear again.

"Hech! hech!" he exclaimed, recovering all his native impudence, "I hae
had occasion to remark already, to anither leddy than yersel', that it's
seemply mairvelous hoo a man's ain gude deeds find him oot in this lower
warld o' ours. I hae dune a gude deed by pure Tammy Pennyquick, and
here's a' Pairth ringing wi the report o' it; and Sawmuel Bishopriggs
sae weel known that ony stranger has only to ask, and find him.
Understand, I beseech ye, that it's no hand o' mine that pets this new
feather in my cap