"Poor boy," said Ted and I; but Francie did not look quite convinced.
"I think he should be shut up," she repeated, in rather a low voice. Francie used to be a very obstinate little girl. "And I shan't speak to him kindly or any way."
Mother did not answer, though she heard. I know she did. But in a minute or two she said:
"Would you like to hear a story about an idiot, that your grandmother told me? It happened when she was a little girl."
Of course we all said "yes," with eagerness.
And this was the story.
"'Pig-Betty' isn't a very pretty name for a story, or for a person, is it? But Pig-Betty was a real person, though I daresay none of you have the least idea what the word 'pig' added to her own name meant," said mother. No, none of us had. We thought, perhaps, it was because this "Betty" was very lazy, or greedy or even dirty, but mother shook her head at all those guesses. And then she went on to explain. "Pig," in some parts of Scotland, she told us, means a piece of coarse crockery. It is used mostly for jugs, though in a general way it means any sort of crockery. "And long ago," mother went on—I think I'll give up putting 'mother said,' or 'mother went on,' and just tell it straight off, as she did.
Long ago then, when my mother was a little girl, she and her brothers and sisters used to spend some months of every year in a rather out-of-the-way part of Scotland. There was no railway and no "coach," that came within at all easy reach. The nearest town was ten or twelve miles away, and even the village was two or three. And a good many things, ordinary, common things, were supplied by pedlars, who walked long distances, often carrying their wares upon their backs. These pedlars came to be generally called by what they had to sell, as a sort of nickname. You may think it was a very hard life, but there were a good many nice things about it. They were always sure of a welcome, for it was a pleasant excitement in the quiet life of the cottages and farm-houses, and even of the big houses about, when one of these travelling merchants appeared; and they never needed to feel any anxiety about their board and lodging. They could always count upon a meal or two and on a night's shelter. Very often they slept in the barn of the farm-house—or even sometimes in a clean corner of the cows' "byre." They were not very particular.
Among these good people there were both men and women, and poor Pig-Betty was one of the latter.