Lady Joan had taken Mrs. Warlock’s chair, and her father had taken the laird’s, and pulled it right in front of the fire, where a small deal table supported his bottle, his decanter, and his three glasses. “What does the woman mean?” said his lordship. “--Oh! I see; a spread-eagle!--But is my room not ready yet? Or haven’t you one to sit in? I don’t relish feasting my nose so much in advance of my other senses.” “Ow! nae fear o’ yer lordship’s nose, ’cep’ it be frae yer lordship’s hose, my lord!” said Grizzie, “for I doobt ye’re birstlin’ yer lordship’s shins! I’ll tak the cratur oot to the cairt-shed, an’ sing’ ’t there first. But ’deed I wadna advise ye to gang to yer room a minute afore ye need, for it winna be that warm the nicht. I hae made a fire ’at’s baith big an’ bricht, an’ fit to ro’st Belzebub--an’ I beg yer pardon, laird--but it’s some days--I micht say ooks--sin’ there was a fire intil ’t, an’ the place needs time to tak the heat intil its auld neuks.” She might have said years not a few, instead of some weeks, but her truthfulness did not drive her so far. She turned, and left the house, carrying with her the fowl to singe. “Here,” said his lordship to his host, “move back this table and chair a bit, will you? I don’t relish having the old witch fussing about my knees. What a mistake it is not to have rooms ready for whoever may come!” The laird rose, laid his book down, and moved the table, then helped his guest to rise, moved his chair, and placed the screen again betwixt him and the door. Lord Mergwain re-settled himself to his bottle.