"It is turning colder!" said I, shivering.
"So much the better, mem. We'll no' have the snow wreaths sliding down on our heads. But we'll soon be out of this den, and then the road is good."
In effect we soon came out upon a wider valley, and presently drew up at the door of a small cottage—the same we had seen from the top of the hill.
Alick whistled once or twice.
The door was opened by a decent-looking woman, with a tartan screen cast over her white mutch.
"Eh! Wha' is this?" said the old woman, who I fancy, might not be unused to untimely visitors. "Man Alick, is this you? And wha' are these."
"Whist, whist, Tibbie! It's just myself, and these are two, young leddies, that I am guiding to my auld leddy at Thornyhaugh, and you must just give them the best you ha' for them. Best tell her the truth, mem," he whispered to me. "She will do all the better for us."
"That will I, that will I!" said old Tibbie, cheerfully. "Come in, by leddies! Come in by, and sit upon the fire. It is but a coorse night for, the likes of you to be out. Eh, the bonnie doo!" she exclaimed, as she removed Amabel's plaid. "Wha could ha' the heart to hurt such a winsome creature? But I'll no fash you with questions. Come in by, and sit upon the fire."
She led us into the cottage, where a great fire of turf, made on the earthen floor, threw out a glow which seemed something miraculous to us poor night wanderers. Tibbie set stools for us, removed our wet plaids and riding-skirts, and in a wonderfully short time, put into our hands basins of warm milk and generous pieces of freshly toasted oatcake.
"Eat and drink, eat and drink!" said she. "That will warm you best of a'."