“Weel, ye maun baith be guid bairns. I like guid bairns mysel,” said the old man; “and ye can just come to me when ye want a piece scone or a wheen berries, and there’s nae fears o’ ye; and I’ll aye gie them an advice, Miss Rose, and mind them of their duty. Ye needna be feared but I’ll do grand with the bairns.”
“Do you live in the house?” asked Rose, a little timidly, for she was somewhat alarmed at the second sight of the poor old Dragon.
“That minds me ye havena seen my room,” said Dragon, briskly. “Come your ways round—aye, I just live in Allenders—and gie me a haud o’ your hands, bairns, and Miss Rose will come after us, and ye’ll get a sight of my house.”
So the soft warm childish hands glided into the withered fingers of the old man, and Rose followed, passing by the luxuriant white rose bush, now blooming in the full flush of its snowy flowers under the new window of the dining-room, into a little court-yard behind where was the stable and byre, and where Mysie, the Dragon’s grand-niece, was just then milking the cow. This great temptation, Violet and Katie withstood womanfully, and passing the milk-pail and the active hands which filled it, with an effort, looked round somewhat impatiently for the Dragon’s den.
“Ye maun come up here,” said the old man, “ane at a time—ane at a time—and if ye’re light-headed, take a grip o’ the wa’, for folk are whiles dizzy on an outside stair; and now here you see I have like a wee house all to mysel.”
The “outside stair” was very narrow and much worn; it was evident it had undergone no repair in all Harry’s labours, and Rose was fain to grasp herself at a withered branch of ivy which still clung to the wall, though life and sap had long departed from it, to secure her own safe passage upwards, and to stretch out her arm on the other side in terror for the children. Edom Comrie’s room was only the loft over the stable, a square low place, with bare rafters and a sky-light in the roof; but Adam’s bed was in one corner, and on a little table, immediately under the window, stood a bowl, ready for Adam’s porridge, and the little round pot in which he made them, was beside his little fire.
“For ye see when it behooved me to live a’thegether at Allenders, the auld maister caused build me a bit grate into the wall. I was a young lad then, and might have taken my meat in the kitchen with Eppie, but I aye was of an independent kind, and I had mair faith in my ain parritch and kail than in onybody else’s; so I came to be a constant residenter here; and there’s the Lady’s Well no a dizzen yards from the stair fit, and the kitchen very near hand. Do ye like stories? Weel, I’ll tell ye some day the story o’ the Lady’s Well.”
“Eh, Dragon, is’t a fairy tale?” asked Katie Calder, with wide-open eyes.
“Naebody can tell that; but I have plenty of fairy tales,” said the old man. “Ye see, it was in the auld times, maybe twa hundred year ago, or mair siller, that the Laird of Allenders had a young daughter, and her name was—aye, Miss Rose, that’s my meal ark—it doesna haud muckle aboon a peck at a time; and here’s where I keep my bannocks, and I have a wee kettle and a pickle tea and sugar there; and for the greens I have just to gang down to the garden and cut them, nae leave asked, and my drap milk brought regular to the very door. Ye see I’m weel off, and I’m ready to own it and be thankful, instead of graneing for ever like some folk—for I’m real comfortable here.”
“And have you no friends?” asked Rose.