"Ay, ay; Annie Anderson�-I hae surely heard that name afore.�-Weel, I winna forget you, whether I forget yer name or no."
"But hae ye a bed?" said the thoughtful girl, to whom the comfort of every one who came near her was an instinctive anxiety.
"Ow, ay. I hae a bed at the hoose o' a sma', jabberin', bitter-barkit crater they ca' King Robert the Bruce."
Annie knew that he must be occupying her room; and was on the point of expressing a hope that he "wadna be disturbit wi' the rottans," when she saw that it would lead to new explanations and delays.
"Good night, Mr Cupples," she said, holding out her hand.
Mr Cupples took it kindly, saying:
"Are ye a niece, or a gran'-dochter o' the hoose, or a hired servan', or what are ye?�-for ye're a wice-spoken lass and a bonnie."
"I'm a servan' o' the hoose," said Annie. Then after a moment's hesitation, she added, "but no a hired ane."
"Ye're worth hirin' onyhoo, hinnie (honey); and they're weel aff that has ye i' the hoose in ony capawcity. An auld man like me may say that to yer face. Sae I'll awa' to my bed, and sing the lave o' my psalm as I gang."
Mr Cupples had a proclivity to garrets. He could not be comfortable if any person was over his head. He could breathe, he said, when he got next to the stars. For the rats he cared nothing, and slept as if the garret were a cellar in heaven.