Ronan's, the said commercial emissaries, for the convenience of their
traffic, always took up their abode at the New Inn, or Hotel, in the
rising and rival village called Saint Ronan's Well, unless when some
straggler, by chance or dire necessity, was compelled to lodge himself
at the Auld Town, as the place of Meg's residence began to be generally
termed. She had, therefore, no sooner formed the hasty conclusion, that
the individual in question belonged to this obnoxious class, than she
resumed her former occupation, and continued to soliloquize and
apostrophize her absent handmaidens, without even appearing sensible of
his presence.

"The huzzy Beenie--the jaud Eppie--the deil's buckie of a
callant!--Another plate gane--they'll break me out of house and ha'!"

The traveller, who, with his saddle-bags rested on the back of a chair,
had waited in silence for some note of welcome, now saw that, ghost or
no ghost, he must speak first, if he intended to have any notice from
his landlady.

"You are my old acquaintance, Mrs. Margaret Dods?" said the stranger.

"What for no?--and wha are ye that speers?" said Meg, in the same
breath, and began to rub a brass candlestick with more vehemence than
before--the dry tone in which she spoke, indicating plainly how little
concern she took in the conversation.

"A traveller, good Mistress Dods, who comes to take up his lodgings here
for a day or two."

"I am thinking ye will be mista'en," said Meg; "there's nae room for
bags or jaugs here--ye've mista'en your road, neighbour--ye maun e'en
bundle yoursell a bit farther down hill."

"I see you have not got the letter I sent you, Mistress Dods?" said the
guest.

"How should I, man?" answered the hostess; "they have ta'en awa the
post-office from us--moved it down till the Spa-well yonder, as they
ca'd."

"Why, that is but a step off," observed the guest.

"Ye will get there the sooner," answered the hostess.

"Nay, but," said the guest, "if you had sent there for my letter, you
would have learned"----

"I'm no wanting to learn ony thing at my years," said Meg. "If folk have
ony thing to write to me about, they may gie the letter to John Hislop,
the carrier, that has used the road these forty years. As for the
letters at the post-mistress's, as they ca' her, down by yonder, they
may bide in her shop-window, wi' the snaps and bawbee rows, till
Beltane, or I loose them. I'll never file my fingers with them.
Post-mistress, in