No, we could have no stabling. Their own horses would be home in half an hour.
She followed me out.
“Half an hour’s rest,” I said, “out of the sun will do my poor nags some good.”
“I tell ye, ye canna have it,” she snapped.
“Then we can have a bucket or two of water, I suppose?”
“Never a drop. We’ve barely enough for ourselves.”
I offered to pay for it I talked almost angrily.
“Never a drop. You’re no so ceevil.”
Talking of Northumbrian inns, I remember once having a good laugh.
A buxom young lassie, as fresh as a mountain-daisy, had served me, during a halt, with some ginger-ale.