At length she said, with as much courtesy as she was capable of assuming,--"Either I have seen you before, sir, or some ane very like ye ?--Ye ken the Blue room, too, and you a stranger in these parts ?" "Not so much a stranger as you may suppose, Meg," said the guest, assuming a more intimate tone, "when I call myself Frank Tyrrel." "Tirl!" exclaimed Meg, with a tone of wonder--"It's impossible! You cannot be Francie Tirl, the wild callant that was fishing and bird-nesting here seven or eight years syne--it canna be--Francie was but a callant!" "But add seven or eight years to that boy's life, Meg," said the stranger gravely, "and you will find you have the man who is now before you." "Even sae!" said Meg, with a glance at the reflection of her own countenance in the copper coffee-pot, which she had scoured so brightly that it did the office of a mirror--"Just e'en sae--but folk maun grow auld or die .-- But, Maister Tirl, for I mauna ca' ye Francie now, I am thinking"---- "Call me what you please, good dame," said the stranger; "it has been so long since I heard any one call me by a name that sounded like former kindness, that such a one is more agreeable to me than a lord's title would be." "Weel, then, Maister Francie--if it be no offence to you--I hope ye are no a Nabob ?" "Not I, I can safely assure you, my old friend;--but what an I were ?" "Naething--only maybe I might bid ye gang farther, and be waur served .-- Nabobs, indeed! the country's plagued wi' them.

They have raised the price of eggs and pootry for twenty miles round--But what is my business ?--They use amaist a' of them the Well down by--they need it, ye ken, for the clearing of their copper complexions, that need scouring as much as my saucepans, that naebody can clean but mysell." "Well, my good friend," said Tyrrel, "the upshot of all this is, I hope, that I am to stay and have dinner here ?" "What for no ?" replied Mrs.Dods.
"And that I am to have the Blue room for a night or two--perhaps longer ?" "I dinna ken that," said the dame.--"The Blue room is the best--and they that get neist best, are no ill aff in this warld." "Arrange it as you will," said the stranger, "I leave the whole matter to you, mistress .-- Meantime, I will go see after my horse." "The merciful man," said Meg, when her guest had left the kitchen, "is merciful to his beast .-- He had aye something about him by ordinar, that callant--But eh, sirs! there is a sair change on his cheek-haffit since I saw him last!--He sall no want a good dinner for auld lang syne, that I'se engage for." Meg set about the necessary preparations with all the natural energy of her disposition, which was so much exerted upon her culinary cares, that her two maids, on their return to the house, escaped the bitter reprimand which she had been previously conning over, in reward for their alleged slatternly negligence.

Nay, so far did she carry her complaisance, that when Tyrrel crossed the kitchen to recover his saddle-bags, she formally rebuked Eppie for an idle taupie, for not carrying the gentleman's things to his room.
"I thank you, mistress," said Tyrrel; "but I have some drawings and colours in these saddle-bags, and I always like to carry them myself." "Ay, and are you at the painting trade yet ?" said Meg; "an unco slaister ye used to make with it lang syne." "I cannot live without it," said Tyrrel; and taking the saddle-bags, was formally inducted by the maid into a snug apartment, where he soon had the satisfaction to behold a capital dish of minced collops, with vegetables, and a jug of excellent ale, placed on the table by the careful hand of Meg herself.

He could do no less, in acknowledgment of the honour, than ask Meg for a bottle of the yellow seal, "if there was any of that excellent claret still left." "Left ?--ay is there, walth of it," said Meg; "I dinna gie it to every body--Ah! Maister Tirl, ye have not got ower your auld tricks!--I am sure, if ye are painting for your leeving, as you say, a little rum and water would come cheaper, and do ye as much good.

But ye maun hae your ain way the day, nae doubt, if ye should never have it again." Away trudged Meg, her keys clattering as she went, and, after much rummaging, returned with such a bottle of claret as no fashionable tavern could have produced, were it called for by a duke, or at a duke's price; and she seemed not a little gratified when her guest assured her that he had not yet forgotten its excellent flavour.