“At the well yonder, trying to place on her head a pitcher not much smaller than herself. She tells me she is a stranger here, only waiting for her grandfather to come and fetch her away.”
“And where to?” asked Vyner.
“To Glenvallah.” And she pointed in the direction of the mountains.
“And where have you come from now?”
“From Arran—from the island.”
“What took you to the island, child?”
“I was at my aunt’s wake. It was there I got this.” And she lifted one of the beads of her necklace with a conscious pride.
“Amber and gold; they become you admirably.”
The child seemed to feel the praise in her inmost heart. It was a eulogy that took in what she prized most, and she shook back the luxuriant masses of her hair, the better to display the ornaments she wore.
“And it was your aunt left this to you?” asked Grenfell.