Fortunately, however, on this occasion a red-liveried menial was lounging about the gate, from whom it was possible to get a peaceful answer.
"Is the most noble Master Jock up yet ?" "Deuce take it, man! What are you shivering at?
Why, he hasn't lain down yet!" Mr.Varju trotted on further.

He had now to report himself to their worships at the community-house, which he accomplished without any beating about the bush by simply saying, "I have done everything." "It is well, Mr.Varju." And now let us take a look at these famous men.
In the worshipful community-room, hanging in long rows on the walls, were the painted effigies of the local and civic celebrities, with room enough between for the arms of these defunct patrons, baillies, curators, and charity-founders also.

On the table were tomes of tremendous bulk, pressed down by a large lead inkstand.

The floor beneath the table was nicely covered with ink-blots--it was there that the pens were usually thrown.
The bell of early dawn was only now beginning to ring, and yet their worships were already assembled in the room, with their elbows planted in a circle all round the long table.

The judge presided--a worthy, stout man.
Near the door stood a group of young men in short, strong, baggy knee-breeches and broad-buttoned pelisse-like dolmans.