"I can never thank you enough," he said, "for rescuing me from what would have been a watery grave."
"Give me oo hand now," said Toddie. "We will all yun home, and oo can tell the stoly to Mammy Mop."
"But really I mustn't——," began the boy.
There was nothing else for it, however; for Fred had seized his other hand, and between Toddie and him they ran him right up the beach, along the road a little way, and through a bonnie garden, towards the door of a cottage, the light from which was streaming out into the gloom of the falling night.
Half an hour afterwards, had you peeped in through the four-paned window of the fisherman's cottage, this is what you would have seen: A bright and cheerful fire of peat and wood burning on a low hearth, a pot with a steaming and savoury stew in it hanging from a soot-blackened chain above it; in one corner, sitting in an old-fashioned high-backed chair, a tall and elderly man, with finely-chiselled features, long hair floating over his jersey, an almost wild look in his eyes, but kindness in every lineament nevertheless. This is Papa Pop, and on his knee sits Toddie, one arm round his neck, but her great wondering blue eyes fixed on the face of that handsome English-looking boy, who, to her way of thinking, seems like the prince of some fairy tale, suddenly dropped out of the clouds. In the other corner sits Fred himself, and at his feet a sonsy cat and a dachshund dog.
Standing on the floor behind this group is the fisherman's wife, tall and bony, rough, but kindly-looking withal, and in front of her, with the firelight streaming on his strangely uncouth face, is Bunko, the fool of the village.
But "fool" is too harsh a word to use; for although but half-witted, there is a deal of sense and shrewdness under that towsy mop of his. Bunko holds in one hand a rough stick or pole higher than himself. This is his rod of office; for Bunko takes all the village cows away to the hills every morning, and besides this he does all kinds of odd jobs that few save he could accomplish.
"Weel, Bunko," the fisherman's wife is saying as she crams his pocket with buttered scones, "you'll tak' the road right over the hills."
"Umphm!" says Bunko.
"And ten miles and a bittock will bring ye to the hoose o' Benshee. Knock at the door—d'ye understan'?"