feelings—­a large round table, covered for ten or twelve persons, decored (according to his own favourite terms) with napery as white as snow, grand flagons of pewter, intermixed with one or two silver cups, containing, as was probable, something worthy the brilliancy of their outward appearance, clean trenchers, cutty spoons, knives and forks, sharp, burnished, and prompt for action, which lay all displayed as for an especial festival.

“The devil’s in the peddling tub-coopering carl!” muttered Caleb, in all the envy of astonishment; “it’s a shame to see the like o’ them gusting their gabs at sic a rate.  But if some o’ that gude cheer does not find its way to Wolf’s Crag this night, my name is not Caleb Balderstone.”

So resolving, he entered the apartment, and, in all courteous greeting, saluted both the mother and the daughter.  Wolf’s Crag was the court of the barony, Caleb prime minister at Wolf’s Crag; and it has ever been remarked that, though the masculine subject who pays the taxes sometimes growls at the courtiers by whom they are imposed, the said courtiers continue, nevertheless, welcome to the fair sex, to whom they furnish the newest small-talk and the earliest fashions.  Both the dames were, therefore, at once about old Caleb’s neck, setting up their throats together by way of welcome.

“Ay, sirs, Mr. Balderstone, and is this you?  A sight of you is gude for sair een.  Sit down—­sit down; the gudeman will be blythe to see you—­ye nar saw him sae cadgy in your life; but we are to christen our bit wean the night, as ye will hae heard, and doubtless ye will stay and see the ordinance.  We hae killed a wether, and ane o’ our lads has been out wi’ his gun at the moss; ye used to like wild-fowl.”

“Na, na, gudewife,” said Caleb; “I just keekit in to wish ye joy, and I wad be glad to hae spoken wi’ the gudeman, but——­” moving, as if to go away.

“The ne’er a fit ye’s gang,” said the elder dame, laughing and holding him fast, with a freedom which belonged to their old acquaintance; “wha kens what ill it may bring to the bairn, if ye owerlook it in that gate?”

“But I’m in a preceese hurry, gudewife,” said the butler, suffering himself to be dragged to a seat without much resistance; “and as to eating,” for he observed the mistress of the dwelling bustling about to place a trencher for him—­“as for eating—­lack-a-day, we are just killed up yonder wi’ eating frae morning to night!  It’s shamefu’ epicurism; but that’s what we hae gotten frae the English pock-puddings.”  “Hout, never mind the English pock-puddings,” said Luckie Lightbody; “try our puddings, Mr. Balderstone; there is black pudding and white-hass; try whilk ye like best.”