Rounding the west end of the village, she came to the
sea front, where, encountering a group of children, she requested
to be shown the blind piper's cottage. Ten of them started at once
to lead the way, and she was presently knocking at the half open
door, through which she could not help seeing the two at their
supper of dry oat cake and still drier skim milk cheese, with a
jug of cold water to wash it down. Neither, having just left the
gentlemen at their wine, could she help feeling the contrast between
the dinner just over at the House and the meal she now beheld.
At the sound of her knock, Malcolm, who was seated with his back
to the door, rose to answer the appeal;--the moment he saw her,
the blood rose from his heart to his cheek in similar response.
He opened the door wide, and in low, something tremulous tones,
invited her to enter; then caught up a chair, dusted it with his
bonnet, and placed it for her by the window, where a red ray of
the setting sun fell on a huge flowered hydrangea. Her quick eye
caught sight of his bound up hand.
"How have you hurt your hand?" she asked kindly.
Malcolm made signs that prayed for silence, and pointed to his
grandfather. But it was too late.
"Hurt your hand, Malcolm, my son," cried Duncan, with surprise
and anxiety mingled. "How will you pe toing tat?"
"Here's a bonny yoong leddy come to see ye, daddy," said Malcolm,
seeking to turn the question aside.
"She'll pe fery clad to see ta ponny young laty, and she's creatly
obleeched for ta honour: put if ta ponny young laty will pe excusing
her--what'll pe hurting your hand, Malcolm!"
"I'll tell ye efterhin, daddy.
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