"Poor boy!" he said. "I fear I talked harshly. But come, we were directed here by an old man who told us you could guide us over the mountains inland. My wife is an artist, and wants to make a sketch or two. See, yonder she comes, and my little daughter, Matty. Come, you seem to be a superior sort of lad, you shall have half a crown."
"I don't want your money. I sha'n't touch it. But if you wait a few minutes I will guide you to a strange land far away among the hills. There will just be time to return before sunset."
"And you will take no reward?"
"Oh yes, sir, I will. I love books. I would have a book if you could lend it to me."
"That we will, with pleasure. I have a boy just about your age—sixteen, and he lives in books. You are a little over sixteen, perhaps?"
Creggan smiled.
"No, sir," he replied, taking off his bonnet now, for Mrs. Nugent and Matty had come up; "I want some months of fourteen."
"You are a very beautiful Highland boy," said Matty, gazing up at Creggan with innocent admiration; "and if you is good, mamma will paint you."
"Hush, dear, hush!" cried the stately mother.
Creggan looked at the child. He had never seen anyone so lovely before, not even in Portree. But there was a little green knoll high up in a glen that he knew of, on which, as the old people told him, fairies danced and played in the moonlight. He had never seen any of these, though many times and oft he had watched for them. But he thought now that Matty must just be like one.