My mother and the other children used always to ask as one of their first questions when they arrived at Greystanes—that was the name of their uncle's country house—on their yearly visit, if Pig-Betty had been there lately, or if she was expected to come soon. One or other was pretty sure to be the case.
They had several reasons for their interest in the old woman. One was that they were very fond of blowing soap-bubbles, which they seldom got leave to do in town, and they always bought a new supply of white clay pipes the first time Pig-Betty appeared; another was that she had what children thought very wonderful treasures hidden among the coarse pots and dishes and jugs that she carried in a shapeless bundle on her bent old back. And sometimes, if she were in a very good humour, she would present one of the little people with a green parrot rejoicing in a whistle in its tail, or with a goggle-eyed dog, reminding one of the creatures in Hans Andersen's tale of "The Three Soldiers." And the third reason was perhaps the strongest, though the strangest of all.
PART II.
The THIRD reason why the children were so interested in the old pedlar woman was, I said, the strongest, though the strangest of all. She was an idiot! They were almost too young to understand what being an idiot really meant, but they could see for themselves that she was quite unlike other people, and her strangeness gave her a queer charm and attraction for them—almost what is called "fascination." When she was at Greystanes, where she always stayed two or three days, they were never at a loss for amusement, for they did little else than run here and there to peep at her and tell over to each other the odd way she trotted about, nodding and shaking her head and talking on to herself as if she were holding long conversations. It did not do to let her see they were watching her, for it would have made her angry. Indeed, several times the children had been warned not to do so, and their nurse had been told to keep them out of the old woman's way; but, as everybody knows, children are contradictory creatures, and in the country, nurse could not keep as close a look out on them as in town. Then it was well known that Pig-Betty was very gentle, even when she was angry—and she did have fits of temper sometimes—she had never been known to hurt anyone.
And, of course, she was not quite without sense. She was able to manage her little trade well enough and to see that she was paid correctly for the "pigs" she sold. She was able, too, to tell the difference between Sunday and other days, for on Sunday she would never "travel," and would often, if she were near a village, creep into the "kirk" and sit in a corner quite quietly. Perhaps "idiot" is hardly the right word to use about her, for there were a few old folk who said they had been told that she had not always been quite so strange and "wanting," but that a great trouble or sorrow that had happened in her family had made her so. The truth was that no one knew her real story. She had wandered into our part of the country from a long way off, thirty or forty years ago, and as people had been kind to her, there she had stayed. No one knew how old she was. Uncle James, himself an elderly man, said she had not changed the least all the years he had known her.
Uncle James was one of the people she had a great affection for. She would stand still whenever he passed her with a kindly, "Well, Betty, my woman, and how are ye?" bobbing a kind of queer curtsey till he was out of sight, and murmuring blessings on the "laird." He never forgot her when she was at Greystanes, always giving orders that the poor body should be made comfortable and have all she wanted.
One of his little kindnesses to her was the cause of a good deal of excitement to the children when they were with Uncle James. At that time gentlepeople dined much earlier than they do now, especially in the country. At Greystanes four o'clock was the regular dinner hour. The children used always to be nicely dressed and sent down "to dessert." And when Pig-Betty was there, Uncle James never failed to pour out a glass of wine and say, "Now, who will take this to the old woman?"
