“And will you like that?” said Anne.
“Eh no—I wadna stand it; I aye made up my mind to be a ploughman like my father before me; sae my uncle spoke for me to the grieve at Fantasie and I’m hired to gang hame at the term. So I cam the noo to see my mother.”
“Have you had a long walk?” said Anne.
“It’s twal mile—it was eleven o’clock when I started—I didna ken what hour it is noo. It should be three by the sun.” Anne consulted her watch; it was just three; the respect of her guide visibly increased—gold watches were notable things in Aberford.
“I thought yince of starting at night. Eh! if I had been passing in the dark, wadna I hae been frighted to see a leddy thonder.”
“Why yonder?” said Anne, “is there anything particular about that place?”
“Eh!” exclaimed the lad, “do ye no ken? there was a man killed at the fit of thon tree.”
Anne started. “Who was he?” she asked.
“I dinna mind his name—it’s lang, lang ago—but he was a gentleman, and my father was yin ’o the witnesses. Maybe ye’ll have seen a muckle house, ower there, a’ disjasket and broken down. George Brock, the grieve lives near the gate o’t—it’s no far off.”
“Yes, I have seen it,” said Anne.