For long Rob stared at it with dubious eyes; there was so little life about it, and so much that was mysteriously ominous. Though drenched with the thin hill rain, craving for food and shelter, he was in a half mind to continue his way, when the face of a man looked through the small hole in the side that served for a window—a green-white face it was, with staring unwavering eyes.
But where there was a living soul there would be food and shelter and Rob stepped forward, forgetting his secret fear. Inside the place, however, there was no sound, but only the monotonous dripping of water upon the muddy floor. In the centre of the room there hung a great pot upon a chain from the roof, and the place was so full of peat reek that it took him a few minutes to see where the man had gone.
Against the wall were layers of rushes, and a narrow stairway led up to a kind of loft about six feet above the floor. Under the loft were the cows. He could hear them coughing fitfully through the wooden partition.
It was a poor enough place and leaking from a score of holes, but it was warm, and so tired was he that he sat down before the peats and warmed his hands.
Presently the door opened and the man re-entered. Rob wondered how he had managed to come that way. He started when he saw Rob, but wished him good-day civilly enough and inquired if he could provide him with anything. He was a sallow, secretive looking fellow, with a tangled beard and hair and a terrible squint.
"You are passing south maybe," he said, busying himself about the place.
With some uneasiness Rob replied that he was journeying to Edinburgh seeking employment.
"It is a Stewart you will be?" remarked the man, squinting terribly.
"No," said Rob, "I am a Fraser."
"A Fraser," he echoed, "I take it you can pay your way."