“We’ll bide till the day comes.—But what are ye stan’in’ there for? Are ye comin’ in, or are ye no?”
“It’s a some cauld welcome!” said Donal. “I s’ jist tak a luik aboot afore I mak up my min’. A tramp, ye ken, needsna stan’ upo’ ceremony.”
He turned away and walked further along the street.
CHAPTER V.
THE COBBLER.
At the end of the street he came to a low-arched gateway in the middle of a poor-looking house. Within it sat a little bowed man, cobbling diligently at a boot. The sun had left behind him in the west a heap of golden refuse, and cuttings of rose and purple, which shone right in at the archway, and let him see to work. Here was the very man for Donal! A respectable shoemaker would have disdained to patch up the shoes he carried—especially as the owner was in so much need of them.
“It’s a bonnie nicht,” he said.
“Ye may weel mak the remark, sir!” replied the cobbler without looking up, for a critical stitch occupied him. “It’s a balmy nicht.”
“That’s raither a bonnie word to put til ’t!” returned Donal. “There’s a kin’ o’ an air aboot the place I wad hardly hae thoucht balmy! But trowth it’s no the fau’t o’ the nicht!”
“Ye’re richt there also,” returned the cobbler—his use of the conjunction impressing Donal. “Still, the weather has to du wi’ the smell—wi’ the mair or less o’ ’t, that is. It comes frae a tanneree nearby. It’s no an ill smell to them ’at’s used til ’t; and ye wad hardly believe me, sir, but I smell the clover throuw ’t. Maybe I’m preejudized, seein’ but for the tan-pits I couldna weel drive my trade; but sittin’ here frae mornin’ to nicht, I get a kin’ o’ a habit o’ luikin’ oot for my blessin’s. To recognize an auld blessin’ ’s ’maist better nor to get a new ane. A pair o’ shune weel cobblet ’s whiles full better nor a new pair.”
“They are that,” said Donal; “but I dinna jist see hoo yer seemile applies.”