The minister staggered back aghast. He could see no one at all, and this peeping, elfish-like voice, rising amid the storm to his ear out of the darkness, reminded him of the days when he believed in the other world—that is, of course, the world of spirits and churchyard ghosts.
But gradually there grew upon him a general impression of a little figure, broad and squat, standing bareheaded and with cap in hand on his threshold. The minister came to himself, and his habits of hospitality asserted themselves.
"You want to learn Greek and Latin," he said, accustomed to extraordinary requests. "Come in and tell me all about it."
The little, broad figure stepped within the doorway.
"I'm a' wat wi' the rain," again quoth the elfish voice, more genially, "an' I'm no' fit to gang into a gentleman's hoose."
"Come into the dining-room," said the minister kindly.
"'Deed, an' ye'll no," interposed Betsy, who had been coming nearer. "Ye'se juist gang into the study, an' I'll lay doon a bass for ye to stand an' dreep on. Where come ye frae, laddie?"
"I am Tammas Gleg's laddie. My faither disna ken that I hae come to see the minister," said the boy.
"The loon's no' wise!" muttered Betsy. "Could the back door no' hae served ye?—Bringing fowk away through the hoose traikin' to open the front door to you on sic a nicht! Man, ye are a peetifu' object!"
The object addressed looked about him. He was making a circle of wetness on the floor. He was taken imperatively by the coat-sleeve.