“May I come again to see them, please?” asked Betty. “They’ve got the spirit of the Scotch dogs. They are the first true friends I have met since I left Scotland.”
“And may I make bold to ask your name, miss?” inquired the farmer’s wife.
“Yes, you may,” said Betty. “It isn’t much of a name. It’s just Betty Vivian, and I live at Haddo Court.”
“My word! Be you one of them young ladies?”
“I don’t know quite what you mean; but I am Betty Vivian, and I live at Haddo Court.”
“But how ever did you get on the high road, miss?” asked the farmer.
Betty laughed. “I went to the edge of what they call the common,” she said. “I found a fence, and I vaulted over—that is all. I don’t like your country much, farmer; there’s no space about it. But the dogs, they are darlings!”
“You’re the pluckiest young gel I ever come across,” said the man. “How you managed to tame ’em is more than I can say. Why, they are real brutes when any one comes nigh the farm; and over and over I has said to the wife, ‘You ought to lock them brutes up, wife.’ But she’s rare and kindhearted, and is very fond of them, whelps that they be.”
“I wonder,” said the woman, “if missie would come into the house and have a bite of summat to eat? We makes butter for the Court, miss; and we sends up all our eggs, and many a pair of fat chickens and turkeys and other fowl. We’re just setting down to dinner, and can give you some potatoes and pork.”