Andrew was a tall, sturdy, old man, with a face in which the fierceness and austerity of his character strove for mastery with the expression of a shrewd and keen intellect. He was usually dressed in the blue gown or surtout described in “The Antiquary” as the habiliment of Edie Ochiltree, and his features were shaded with a broad slouched hat, which had been exchanged at an earlier period for a lowland bonnet. His feet and ankles were shod with strong iron-soled shoes and _gamashins_, or _stocking-boots_. He always carried a stout walking-staff, which was nearly as tall as himself, that is to say, not much less than six feet. “Though free and unceremonious,[17] Andrew was never burdensome or indiscreet in his visits, returning only once or twice a year, and generally after pretty regular intervals. He evidently seemed to prosper in his calling; for, though hung around with rags of every shape and hue, he commonly possessed a good horse, and used to attend the country fairs and race-courses, where he would bet and dispute with the farmers and gentry with the most independent and resolute pertinacity. He allowed that begging had been a good trade in his time, but used to complain sadly that times were daily growing worse.[18] A person remembers seeing Gemmels travelling about on a blood-mare, with a foal after her, and a gold watch in his pocket. On one occasion, at Rutherford in Tiviotdale, he had dropped a clue of yarn, and Mr. Mather, his host, finding him searching for it, assisted in the search, and, having got hold of it, persisted, notwithstanding Andrew’s opposition, in unrolling the yarn till he came to the _kernel_, which, much to his surprise and amusement, he found to consist of about twenty guineas in gold.” “My grandfather,” continues this writer, “was exceedingly fond of Andrew’s company; and, though a devout and strict Cameronian, and occasionally somewhat scandalized at his rough and irreverent style of language, was nevertheless so much attracted by his conversation, that he never failed to spend the evenings of his sojourn in listening to his entertaining narrations and ‘auld-warld stories,’ with the old shepherds, hinds, and children seated around them, beside the blazing turf ingle in ‘the farmer’s ha’.’ These conversations generally took a polemical turn, and not unfrequently ended in violent disputes—my ancestor’s hot and impatient temper blazing forth in collision with the dry and sarcastic humour of his ragged guest. Andrew was never known to yield his point on these occasions; but he usually had the address, when matters grew too serious, to give the conversation a more pleasant turn, by some droll remark or unexpected stroke of humour, which convulsed the rustic group, and the grave gudeman himself, with unfailing and irresistible merriment.”