"An' it please your grace," said the stout old Tory, "I fear I am too old to see another opportunity."
A Night in a Coal-cellar
One night, sitting later than usual, sunk in the profundities of a great folio tome, the Rev. Dr. Wightman of Kirkmahol imagined he heard a sound in the kitchen inconsistent with the quietude and security of a manse, and so taking his candle he proceeded to investigate the cause. His foot being heard in the lobby, the housekeeper began with all earnestness to cover the fire, as if preparing for bed.
"Ye're late up to-night, Mary."
"I'm jist rakin' the fire, sir, and gaun to bed."
"That's right, Mary; I like timeous hours."
On his way back to the study he passed the coal-closet, and, turning the key, took it with him. Next morning, at an early hour, there was a rap at his bedroom door, and a request for the key to put a fire on.
"Ye're too soon up, Mary; go back to your bed yet."
Half an hour later there was another knock, and a similar request in order to prepare the breakfast.