In some way, with the jug of water and the lighted candle in his
hands and the hidden terrier under one arm, the old man mounted
the eighteen-inch wide, walled-in attic stairs and unlocked the
first of a number of narrow doors on the passage at the top.

"Weel aboon the fou' smell," indeed; "weel worth the lang climb!"
Around the loose frames of two wee southward-looking dormer
windows, that jutted from the slope of the gable, came a gush of
rain-washed air. Auld Jock tumbled Bobby, warm and happy and
"nane the wiser," out into the cold cell of a room that was oh,
so very, very different from the high, warm, richly colored
library of Sir Walter! This garret closet in the slums of
Edinburgh was all of cut stone, except for the worn, oaken floor,
a flimsy, modern door, and a thin, board partition on one side
through which a "neebor" could be heard snoring. Filling all of
the outer wall between the peephole, leaded windows and running-
up to the slope of the ceiling, was a great fireplace of native
white freestone, carved into fluted columns, foliated capitals,
and a flat pediment of purest classic lines. The ballroom of a
noble of Queen Mary's day had been cut up into numerous small
sleeping closets, many of them windowless, and were let to the
chance lodger at threepence the night. Here, where generations of
dancing toes had been warmed, the chimney vent was bricked up,
and a boxed-in shelf fitted, to serve for a bed, a seat and a
table, for such as had neither time nor heart for dancing. For
the romantic history and the beauty of it, Auld Jock had no mind
at all. But, ah! he had other joy often missed by the more
fortunate.

"Be canny, Bobby," he cautioned again.