They had now reached the airy dwelling where Mrs. Macshake resided, and having rung, the door was at length most deliberately opened by an ancient, sour-visaged, long-waisted female, who ushered them into an apartment, the coup d’oeil of which struck a chill to Mary’s heart.  It was a good-sized room, with a bare sufficiency of small-legged dining-tables, and lank haircloth chairs, ranged in high order round the walls.  Although the season was advanced, and the air piercing cold, the grate stood smiling in all the charms of polished steel; and the mistress of the mansion was seated by the side of it in an arm-chair, still in its summer position.  She appeared to have no other occupation than what her own meditations afforded; for a single glance sufficed to show that not a vestige of book or work was harboured there.  She was a tall, large-boned woman, whom even Time’s iron hands scarcely bent, as she merely stooped at the shoulders.  She had a drooping snuffy nose, a long turned-up chin, small quick gray eyes, and her face projected far beyond her figure, with an expression of shrewd restless curiosity.  She wore a mode (not a-la-mode ) bonnet, and cardinal of the same, a pair of clogs over her shoes, and black silk mittens on her arms.

As soon as she recognised Mr. Douglas she welcomed him with much cordiality, shook him long and heartily by the hand, patted him on the back, looked into his face with much seeming satisfaction; and, in short, gave all the demonstrations of gladness usual with gentlewomen of a certain age.  Her pleasure, however, appeared to be rather an impromptu than an habitual feeling; for as the surprise wore off her visage resumed its harsh and sarcastic expression, and she seemed eager to efface any agreeable impression her reception might have excited.

“An’ wha thought o’ seein ye enow?” said she, in a quick gabbling voice.  “What brought you to the toon?  Are ye come to spend our honest faither’s siller ere he’s weel cauld in his grave, puir man?”

Mr. Douglas explained that it was upon account of his niece’s health.

“Health!” repeated she, with a sardonic smile; “it wad mak’ an ool laugh to hear the wark that’s made aboot young fowk’s health noo-a-days.  I wonder what ye’re aw made o’ “—­grasping Mary’s arm in her great bony hand—­“a wheen puir feckless windlestraes; ye maun awa’ to Ingland for ye’re healths.  Set ye up!  I wonder what cam’ o’ the lasses i’ my time, that bute to bide at hame?  And whilk o’ ye, I sude like to ken, ’II ere leive to see ninety-sax, like me?  Health!—­he, he !”

Mary, glad of a pretence to in indulge the mirth the old lady’s manner and appearance had excited, joined most heartily in the laugh.

“Tak. aff ye’re bannet, bairn, an’ let me see ye’re face.  Wha can tell what like ye are wi’ that snule o’ a thing on ye’re head?” Then after taking an accurate survey of her face, she pushed aside her pelisse.”  Weel, it’s ae mercy, I see ye hae neither the red heed nor the muckle cuits o’ the Douglases.  I ken nae whuther ye’re faither had them or no.  I ne’er set een on him; neither him nor his braw leddie thought it worth their while to speer after me; but I was at nae loss, by aw accounts.”