“How pleasant!” said Anne.
Miss Haldane snorted. “Can’t you have him turned out?” she demanded. “I don’t think it is a good plan to have a vagabond settling in the village.”
“The cottage is not mine,” replied Anne; “as far as I know, it is no man’s property. Besides, does he do any harm—poach, or anything like that?”
“Not that I know of,” returned Miss Haldane. “In fact, they say he buys, and pays for, certain provisions at the village shop.”
“Then,” said Anne lazily, “he is not a vagabond. A vagabond is one without visible means of subsistence; this man evidently has visible means. I wonder what he is like. I fancied no man would have braved that cottage after nightfall even if he had ventured within at daylight. At all events, superstition has been very rife around it.”
“They say he plays the penny whistle beautifully,” remarked Miss Haldane.
Anne’s eyes twinkled. “You have culled much information since our arrival last night, Matty dear. The man shall come and give us a concert.”
“My dear!”
“Why not?” asked Anne carelessly. “An unstudied simple concert on the penny whistle would, I am sure, be full of charm. Burton shall go down to-morrow and request him from me to come up to the terrace.”
Miss Haldane was shocked, perturbed. In a word, she fluttered in a manner not unlike an elderly hen with a duckling chick.