"The Lord knoweth," responded Ewen, gravely; "but he knocks both loud and late."
"Inquire before you open," urged Meinie, seizing her husband's arm, as the impatient knock was renewed with treble violence.
"Who comes there?" demanded Ewen, in a soldierly tone.
"A friend," replied a strange voice without, and in the same manner.
"What do you want?"
"Fire and smoke!" cried the other, giving the door a tremendous kick; "do you ask that in such a devil of a night as this? You have a room to let, have you not?"
"Yes."
"Well: open the door, or blood and 'oons I'll bite your nose off!"
Ewen hastened to undo the door; and then, all wet and dripping as if he had just been fished up from the Moray Firth, there entered a strange-looking old fellow in a red coat; he stumped vigorously on a wooden leg, and carried on his shoulders a box, which he flung down with a crash that shook the dwelling, saying,—
"There—dam you—I have made good my billet at last."