wore a new and enchanting aspect, and needed instant exploration.
By day it was fitted with tables, picketed by chairs and all
manner of boots. Noisy and crowded, a little dog that wandered
about there was liable to be trodden upon. On that night of storm
it was a vast, bright place, so silent one could hear the ticking
of the wag-at-the-wa' clock, the crisp crackling of the flames,
and the snapping of the coals. The uncovered deal tables were set
back in a double line along one wall, with the chairs piled on
top, leaving a wide passage of freshly scrubbed and sanded oaken
floor from the door to the fireplace. Firelight danced on the
dark old wainscoting and high, carved overmantel, winked on rows
of drinking mugs and metal covers over cold meats on the buffet,
and even picked out the gilt titles on the backs of a shelf of
books in Mr. Traill's private corner behind the bar.

Bobby shook himself on the hearth to free his rain-coat of
surplus water. To the landlord's dry "We're no' needing a shower
in the house. Lie down, Bobby," he wagged his tail politely, as a
sign that he heard. But, as Auld Jock did not repeat the order,
he ignored it and scampered busily about the room, leaving little
trails of wet behind him.

This grill-room of Traill's place was more like the parlor of a
country inn, or a farm-house kitchen if there had been a built-in
bed or two, than a restaurant in the city. There, a humble man
might see his herring toasted, his bannocks baked on the
oven-top, or his tea brewed to his liking. On such a night as
this the landlord would pull the settle out of the inglenook to
the set before the solitary guest a small table, and keep the
kettle on the hob.