“He’s young for the like of that,” said the maid.
“Ower young,” said Alan, with his back to her.
“He would be better riding,” says she.
“And where could I get a horse to him?” cried Alan, turning on her with the same appearance of fury. “Would ye have me steal?”
I thought this roughness would have sent her off in dudgeon, as indeed it closed her mouth for the time. But my companion knew very well what he was doing; and, for as simple as he was in some things of life, had a great fund of roguishness in such affairs as these.
“Ye needna tell me,” she said at last—“ye’re gentry.”
“Well,” said Alan, softened a little (I believe against his will) by this artless comment, “and suppose we were? Did ever you hear that gentrice put money in folk’s pockets?”
She sighed at this, as if she were herself some disinherited great lady. “No,” says she, “that’s true indeed.”
I was all this while chafing at the part I played, and sitting tongue-tied between shame and merriment; but somehow at this I could hold in no longer, and bade Alan let me be, for I was better already. My voice stuck in my throat, for I ever hated to take part in lies; but my very embarrassment helped on the plot, for the lass no doubt set down my husky voice to sickness and fatigue.
“Has he nae friends?” said she, in a tearful voice.