"There is no road; and it's eight miles away," said Tinker, knitting his brow into the gloomy and forbidding frown of a robber baron.
"Eight miles! What am I to do? Where is the nearest place I can get a conveyance?"
"It would be a twenty-mile drive if you got a cart, and there's no cart nearer than Ardrochan, and that's six miles away."
"Well, then, a horse, or a pony, and a guide?"
"You could get a pony at Hamish Beg's; and one of his sons could guide you."
"Where does he live? How can I get there?"
"Three miles the other side of that tower."
"Will you show me the way? I'll give you—I'll give you half-a-crown."
"Hildebrand Anne of Ardrochan is not the hired varlet of every wandering chapster," said Tinker with a splendid air.
"I'm not a wandering chapster," said the money-lender. "I'm a gentleman of London. I'll give you five shillings—half a sovereign—a pound!"