“Now then, who are ye? and what brings ye tramping on sic a night as this?” sternly demanded Andy, as he turned and stared at the stranger.
She wore a long dark gray cloak with a hood; the cloak completely concealed her form and its hood overshadowed her face. That was all that Andy could make of her appearance then.
“Who are ye, I ask, and where are ye gaun the night,” he angrily repeated.
The stranger did not answer except by dropping her face upon her open hands.
“Andy, dinna ye see she canna speak? For the sake of our own poor lost Katie, we maun have pity. Come away to the fire, my poor lass, and dry your clothes, whiles I get ye something warm to take the chill out o’ your poor shivering body,” said Jenny, kindly placing her hand upon the girl’s shoulder and gently urging her towards the fire-place.
“I’m of opinion that ye’d better find out who she is, and where she came from, and where she’s gaun, before ye press upon her the hospitalities of an honest house,” grumbled Mr. Birney.
“Whist, gude man! I might speer a dizzen questions, but dinna ye see for yoursel’ that she’s in na condition to answer ane?” said Jenny, in a low voice.
Andy growled something in which the words “tramping hizzy” were the only ones audible.
“Come, let me hae your cloak, hinny, to hang it up to dry. See, it’s wringing wet. Nay, nay, dinna resist gude offices,” said Mrs. Birney, with kind persistence, as she saw that the girl made some little, mute, pathetic resistance to the removal of her outer garment.
Jenny gently took it off her and hung it on the back of a chair to dry by the fire.