The landlady of the little inn, at which Sandie and Willie had dined so sumptuously, was a chatty wee body. Like most chatty wee bodies, she was by no means averse to being informed concerning the nature of other people’s business.
“Ye’ll be tourists, I reckon?” she said, as she placed a delicious dish of curds and cream in front of them.
Now it had occurred to Sandie that this same gossipy landlady, who evidently knew everybody, might put him in the way of getting a boat. So he answered her question readily enough.
“No,” he said, “not quite tourists, mother. I come on quite a different errand, and mean to stay for a bit. My friend here came to bear me company, and will return to-morrow, if not to-day.”
“And what may your business be, young sir?”
“Ah! that’s what I’m coming to, mother. I’m a student, you see, and my people are poor. I have just enough to do to rub along and pay my way during the winter session.”
“But, mind you,” interpolated Willie somewhat proudly, “my friend here is first bursar at Marischal College and University, Aberdeen.”
“Preserve me!” cried the woman, lifting up her palms and raising her eyes ceilingwards. “Preserve us a’, but what a high honour to hae a first bursar in my poor house!”
“Never mind about the honour, mother. Let me tell you at once, that I’ve come down here to find a boat, if possible, and to try to make a few white shillings at the herring-fishing.”
“Gang awa’ wi’ ye, you’re jokin’. You a gentleman and a first bursar, to go and catch scaly herrings, and work like a galley-slave. Dinna try to deceive an auld wife; you’re just poking fun at Widow Stephen.”