The door opened suddenly; and Mr. Bishopriggs appeared with the dinner. Anne nervously separated herself from Arnold. The one available eye of Mr. Bishopriggs followed her reproachfully, as he put the dishes on the table. “I warned ye baith, it was a clean impossibility to knock at the door this time. Don’t blame me, young madam--don’t blame _me!”_ “Where will you sit?” asked Arnold, by way of diverting Anne’s attention from the familiarities of Father Bishopriggs. “Any where!” she answered, impatiently; snatching up a chair, and placing it at the bottom of the table. Mr. Bishopriggs politely, but firmly, put the chair back again in its place. “Lord’s sake! what are ye doin’? It’s clean contrary to a’ the laws and customs o’ the honey-mune, to sit as far away from your husband as that!” He waved his persuasive napkin to one of the two chairs placed close together at the table. Arnold interfered once more, and prevented another outbreak of impatience from Anne. “What does it matter?” he said. “Let the man have his way.” “Get it over as soon as you can,” she returned. “I can’t, and won’t, bear it much longer.” They took their places at the table, with Father Bishopriggs behind them, in the mixed character of major domo and guardian angel. “Here’s the trout!” he cried, taking the cover off with a flourish. “Half an hour since, he was loupin’ in the water. There he lies noo, fried in the dish. An emblem o’ human life for ye! When ye can spare any leisure time from yer twa selves, meditate on that.” Arnold took up the spoon, to give Anne one of the trout. Mr. Bishopriggs clapped the cover on the dish again, with a countenance expressive of devout horror. “Is there naebody gaun’ to say grace?” he asked. “Come! come!” said Arnold. “The fish is getting cold.” Mr. Bishopriggs piously closed his available eye, and held the cover firmly on the dish. “For what ye’re gaun’ to receive, may ye baith be truly thankful!” He opened his available eye, and whipped the cover off again. “My conscience is easy noo. Fall to! Fall to!” “Send him away!” said Anne. “His familiarity is beyond all endurance.” “You needn’t wait,” said Arnold. “Eh! but I’m here to wait,” objected Mr. Bishopriggs. “What’s the use o’ my gaun’ away, when ye’ll want me anon to change the plates for ye?” He considered for a moment (privately consulting his experience) and arrived at a satisfactory conclusion as to Arnold’s motive for wanting to get rid of him. “Tak’ her on yer knee,” he whispered in Arnold’s ear, “as soon as ye like! Feed him at the fork’s end,” he added to Anne, “whenever ye please! I’ll think of something else, and look out at the proaspect.” He winked--and went to the window. “Come! come!” said Arnold to Anne. “There’s a comic side to all this. Try and see it as I do.” Mr. Bishopriggs returned from the window, and announced the appearance of a new element of embarrassment in the situation at the inn.