"Perhaps ye'll meet a cart, and the driver will give ye a lift. My faither once gave a lift in his cart to a little girl going toward London," the cripple suggested.
"I wish I could meet some one who would drive me," said Meg in faltering accents.
"If ye're frightened ye'll never find the person as was good to you," the lad replied rousingly.
"You were not frightened at night, all alone?" asked Meg.
"I'm frightened of nothink," said the lad; "but ye're a little lady, so that makes a difference."
Meg asked herself if her companion's shriveled leg did not make up for the disadvantages of sex, and she trudged along, resolved not to give in, but she wished she did not begin to feel so hungry again.
Presently they came to a fingerpost.
"What's written up there?" said the cripple.
"Can't you see?" asked Meg, astonished.