He was an ancient man—­with one eye filmy and blind, and one eye moist and merry.  His head was bald; his feet were gouty; his nose was justly celebrated as the largest nose and the reddest nose in that part of Scotland.  The mild wisdom of years was expressed mysteriously in his mellow smile.  In contact with this wicked world, his manner revealed that happy mixture of two extremes—­the servility which just touches independence, and the independence which just touches servility—­attained by no men in existence but Scotchmen.  Enormous native impudence, which amused but never offended; immeasurable cunning, masquerading habitually under the double disguise of quaint prejudice and dry humor, were the solid moral foundations on which the character of this elderly person was built.  No amount of whisky ever made him drunk; and no violence of bell-ringing ever hurried his movements.  Such was the headwaiter at the Craig Fernie Inn; known, far and wide, to local fame, as “Maister Bishopriggs, Mistress Inchbare’s right-hand man.”

“What are you doing there?” Anne asked, sharply.

Mr. Bishopriggs turned himself about on his gouty feet; waved his duster gently in the air; and looked at Anne, with a mild, paternal smile.

“Eh!  Am just doostin’ the things; and setin’ the room in decent order for ye.”

“For me? Did you hear what the landlady said?”

Mr. Bishopriggs advanced confidentially, and pointed with a very unsteady forefinger to the purse which Anne still held in her hand.

“Never fash yoursel’ aboot the landleddy!” said the sage chief of the Craig Fernie waiters.  “Your purse speaks for you, my lassie.  Pet it up!” cried Mr. Bishopriggs, waving temptation away from him with the duster.  “In wi’ it into yer pocket!  Sae long as the warld’s the warld, I’ll uphaud it any where—­while there’s siller in the purse, there’s gude in the woman!”

Anne’s patience, which had resisted harder trials, gave way at this.

“What do you mean by speaking to me in that familiar manner?” she asked, rising angrily to her feet again.

Mr. Bishopriggs tucked his duster under his arm, and proceeded to satisfy Anne that he shared the landlady’s view of her position, without sharing the severity of the landlady’s principles.  “There’s nae man livin’,” said Mr. Bishopriggs, “looks with mair indulgence at human frailty than my ain sel’.  Am I no’ to be familiar wi’ ye—­when I’m auld eneugh to be a fether to ye, and ready to be a fether to ye till further notice?  Hech! hech!  Order your bit dinner lassie.  Husband or no husband, ye’ve got a stomach, and ye must een eat.  There’s fesh and there’s fowl—­or, maybe, ye’ll be for the sheep’s head singit, when they’ve done with it at the tabble dot?”

There was but one way of getting rid of him:  “Order what you like,” Anne said, “and leave the room.”  Mr. Bishopriggs highly approved of the first half of the sentence, and totally overlooked the second.