The room door opened, a voice bawled in the lobby, “Mrs MacPherson, hey! Mrs MacPherson,” and the student, without waiting his landlady’s-appearance, walked coolly into the kitchen. “Hulloo! old chap, how’s biz?” he said to Erchie, and seated himself airily on the table, with a pipe in his mouth. He was a lad of twenty, with spectacles. “I canna complain,” said Erchie. “I hope ye’re makin’ yersel’ at hame.” “Allow me for that!” said the student. “That’s nice,” said Erchie, blandly. “See and no’ be ower blate, and if there’s onything ye’re wantin’ that we havena got, we’ll get it for ye. Ye’ll no’ know whit ye need till ye see whit ye require. It’s a prood day for us to hae a diveenity student in oor room. If we had expected it we wad hae had a harmonium.” “Never mind the harmonium,” said the student. “For music lean on me, George P. Tod. I sing from morn till dewy eve. When I get up in the morning, jocund day stands on the misty mountain top, and I give weight away to the bloomin’ lark. Shakespeare, Mr MacPherson. The Swan of Avon. He wrote a fairly good play. What I wanted to know was if by any chance Mrs MacPherson was a weepist?” “Sir?” said Jinnet. “Do you, by any chance, let the tear doon fa’?” “Not me!” said Jinnet, “I’m a cheery wee woman.” “Good!” said Tod. “Then you’re lucky to secure a sympathetic and desirable lodger. To be gay is my forte. The last landlady I had was thrice a widow. She shed the tears of unavailing regret into my lacteal nourishment with the aid of a filler, I think, and the milk got thinner and thinner. I was compelled at last to fold-my tent like the justly celebrated Arabs of song and silently steal away. ‘Why weep ye by the tide, ladye?’ I said to her. ‘If it were by the pint I should not care so much, but methinks your lachrymal ducts are too much on the hair trigger.’ It was no use, she could not help it, and--in short, here I am.” “I’m shair we’ll dae whit we can for ye,” said Jinnet. “I never had a ludger before.” “So much the better,” said George Tod. “I’m delighted to be the object of experiment--the _corpus vile_, as we say in the classics, Mr MacPher-son,--and you will learn a good deal with me. I will now proceed to burn the essential midnight oil. Ah, thought, thought! You little know, Mr MacPherson, the weary hours of study----” “It’s no’ ile we hae in the room, it’s gas,” said Erchie. “But if ye wad raither hae ile’, say the word and we’ll get it for ye.” “Gas will do,” said the student; “it is equally conducive to study, and more popular in all great congeries of thought.” “When dae ye rise in the mornin’, Mr Tod?” asked Jinnet. “I wad like to ken when I should hae your breakfast ready.” “Rise!” said Tod. “Oh, any time! ‘When the morn, with russet mantle clad, walks o’er the dew on yon high eastern hill.’” [Illustration: 0113]