“Oh, no; I had no such design,” sighed the girl.
“But—an ye didna come for a night’s lodging, what did ye come for?”
“I was nearly spent with struggling on in the face of the tempest. I was so beaten by the wind and the rain that I thought I should have dropped and died; I almost wish I had. But I saw the light in your window and I tried to reach it, and I did. I came in only to rest and breathe a little while, and get strength to go on again.”
“But where did ye come from, my poor child?” inquired the pitying woman.
“I came from Washington by the stage-coach. It put me down at the Cross Roads, ten miles from this place.”
“Gude save us! and ye walked all that way through the storm?”
“Yes, and was nearly exhausted; but now, thanks to your charity, I feel refreshed, and able to pursue my journey,” said the young girl, as she tied her cloak, and drew its hood over her head.
“Indeed, then, and ye’ll no do onything o’ the sort. Eh, sirs, are we heathen to let a wee bit lassie gae forth alane on sic a stormy winter-night as this, when we wouldna turn an enemy’s dog from the door? Sit ye down, my lass, and dinna ye mind the gudeman’s growling. His bark is aye worse than his bite,” said Mrs. Birney.
And here Mr. Birney took his pipe from his mouth, and spoke these gracious words:
“Bide ye here for the present, an’ ye will. I dinna like tramps as a permanent institution in the house, but I’ll no turn ye out into the storm, sae bide where ye be.”