“I doobt sair gien ye’ll win to Howglen the nicht,” said Aggie.— “But ye’re not yer lone?” she added, trying to summon her English, of which she had plenty of a sort, though not always at hand.
“My father is with me,” said the lady, looking back into the dark carriage, “but I think he is asleep, and I don’t want to wake him while we are standing still.”
Peeping in, Aggie caught sight of somebody muffled, leaning back in the other corner of the carriage, and breathing heavily.
To Aggie’s not altogether unaccustomed eye, it seemed he might have had more than was good for him in the way of refreshment.
Cosmo was busy clearing the snow from the horses’ hoofs. The driver, stupid or dazed, sat on the box, helpless as a parrot on a swinging perch.
“You’ll never win to Howglen to-night, mem,” said Aggie.
“We must put up where we can, then,” answered the lady.
“I dinna know of a place nearer, fit for gentlefowk, mem.”
“What are we to do then?” asked the lady, with subdued, but evident anxiety.
“What’s the guid o’ haein’ a father like that—sleepin’ and snorin’ whan maist ye’re in want o’ ’im!” thought Aggie to herself; but what she replied was, “Bide, mem, till we hear what Cosmo has to say til ’t.”