“There must be some one living here, then,” said Anne, and following the dog she knocked twice, briskly. There was no answer, though she was sure that she heard footsteps, and a light puff of smoke from the least tumble-down chimney told that the house was inhabited.
Anne began to feel very uncomfortable, and Elsa Willoughby whispered, “Suppose this is a tramp’s camp?” A perfectly natural remark, but one that was not comforting.
The collie scratched again, and then gave two sharp barks. Instantly there was a quick tapping sound inside, as of a stick on the floor, the door opened in with a bang, a weak hinge giving way at the pull, while a gaunt female figure leaning on a crutch clasped the dog in her arms, hugging him and crying: “My laddie, my laddie, and I thought they had taken ye, when ye stayed agone three nights, and when I heard the shot this noon I thought they had killed ye certy.”—It was the Herb Witch herself!
A flash and crash followed by a gust of rain made Anne step forward, and as quickly as possible ask for shelter. When the woman saw the party, her face grew rigid again and, for a moment, it seemed as if she would close the door; then she changed her mind, and opening it as wide as the broken hinge would allow, said, “Walk in, leddies.”
The door opened directly into a low, square room. At first it was so dark that the girls could distinguish nothing, then as their eyes became accustomed to the dimness, a few chairs, a table, and a small stove set in the wide, open fireplace, were outlined. The room was bare and poor, but very clean.
The old woman, after feeding the dog from a pot that was on the hearth, returned, and stood by the window, the dog behind her, after motioning her guests to be seated; but she did not speak, or ask a question as to from whence they came, or whither they were bound. She might have been accustomed to have six girls come every day, for any surprise she showed. The silence became embarrassing, until Anne, partly to break it, and partly because the chairs fell short, sat down on the floor by the collie, and began to talk to him, and through him to his mistress, in her coaxing way that no one could withstand.
“Tell your missy where we found you, and how the wicked trap pinched your foot,” she crooned, scratching him under his chin until he rolled over on his back with a contentedly foolish expression.
“And did yer find him trapped, and loose him, little leddie? I didn’t mind his foot was hurt, my eyes are so poor and farsome.” Her speech was fascinating, wholly unlike the harsh country dialect; and yet only now and then did she use a Scotch phrase.