and merry. His head was bald; his feet were gouty; his nose was justly
celebrated as the largest nose and the reddest nose in that part of
Scotland. The mild wisdom of years was expressed mysteriously in his
mellow smile. In contact with this wicked world, his manner revealed
that happy mixture of two extremes--the servility which just
touches independence, and the independence which just touches
servility--attained by no men in existence but Scotchmen. Enormous
native impudence, which amused but never offended; immeasurable cunning,
masquerading habitually under the double disguise of quaint prejudice
and dry humor, were the solid moral foundations on which the character
of this elderly person was built. No amount of whisky ever made him
drunk; and no violence of bell-ringing ever hurried his movements. Such
was the headwaiter at the Craig Fernie Inn; known, far and wide, to
local fame, as "Maister Bishopriggs, Mistress Inchbare's right-hand
man."

"What are you doing there?" Anne asked, sharply.

Mr. Bishopriggs turned himself about on his gouty feet; waved his duster
gently in the air; and looked at Anne, with a mild, paternal smile.

"Eh! Am just doostin' the things; and setin' the room in decent order
for ye."

"For _me?_ Did you hear what the landlady said?"

Mr. Bishopriggs advanced confidentially, and pointed with a very
unsteady forefinger to the purse which Anne still held in her hand.

"Never fash yoursel' aboot the landleddy!" said the sage chief of the