Nathan's appearance is not calculated to inspire gaiety. He is too long and 'boss-looking,' his whiskers are too straight and wispy, and his blue eyes too vacant and far-away. But, as I have admitted, there is a 'composure' about him which is satisfying; and as he pushed my door ajar and came in, as it were bit by bit, I gladly laid aside my book and turned down my lamp. I presumed he would be dying for his after-supper smoke, so I persuaded him to sit down in the basket chair at the foot of my bed, and 'fire his pipe,' as he terms it. For a time he smoked in silence; then, suddenly remembering Betty's injunction, and looking through the uncurtained window and taking a long survey of the scudding clouds, he said, 'Imphm! the wind's changin', Maister Weelum, to the nor'-east. That means a bla' doon your lum, I'm thinkin', an' it's a maist by-ordinar' dirty, choky thing, is back reek.' Then breaking away at a tangent, and fixing his blue eyes on me, he said, 'Ay, man, an' ye're no' lookin' sae weel the nicht as I've seen ye.' 'Maybe not, Nathan,' I said. 'I haven't been up to the mark yesterday and to-day.' 'So Betty was tellin' me; but--eh--ye're lookin' waur than I expectit.' 'I'm sorry, Nathan,' and I laughed uneasily; 'but, you know, I cannot help my appearance.' 'No, Maister Weelum, that's true--that _is_ true;' and he deliberately, and with unerring aim, spat in the fire. 'Nae man can--phew!--eh, losh, d'ye see that?' he hastily ejaculated, as a cloud of smoke spued from the fireplace, swirled up the wall, and spread along the ceiling. 'I telt ye the wind was shiftin' its airt, an' that ye wad ha'e a bla' doon. If there's onything in this world I hate, it's back smoke. Man, it seeps doon through your thrapple into your lungs, an' there's nae hoastin' o' it up. Phew!--dash it! I wonder when that lum was last soopit. Talkin' o' lums, did ye ken that auld Brushie the sweep was buried the day?' Not having had the pleasure of Brushie's acquaintance, I replied in the negative with unconcern. 'Ay,' continued Nathan, determined to obey Betty and keep the crack going--'ay, there's a lot o' folk slippin' away the noo; changeable weather gethers them in. It's a kittle time o' the year for them that are no' very strong--imphm!' I was, unfortunately, in a more than usually susceptible state of mind, and the morbid strain of Nathan's conversation was affecting me in spite of myself. 'Yes, Nathan,' I said, expecting to bring a smile to his long, serious face, 'people are dying just now who never died before.' 'True, Maister Weelum; ye're richt there. Imphm! ye're perfectly richt,' he solemnly said without relaxing a muscle. He crossed his long legs very deliberately and stroked his beard as he looked round my little room. 'Man, Maister Weelum, dootless ye think ye're as snug up here as a flea in a blanket, but wad ye no' be better doon the stairs in the big bedroom to the sooth, an'--an'---- 'And what, Nathan?'