“Trust me for that,” said Archy, as he disappeared from the bartizan.
The sun of next morning had scarcely well risen, and Gibbon More had just issued from his door to take a look at its face, that he might judge of the coming weather, when he descried an ill-formed dwarfish youth approaching, whose countenance, though ill-favoured, had a certain prepossessing expression in it.
“Whence comest thou, little man?” demanded the Lord of Glenchearnich.
“I come from the east,” said the boy readily; “my name is Archy—other name have I none—and I would fain be a Cumin.”
“Ha! ha! ha!—a Cumin, wouldst thou?” said Gibbon laughing. “By St. Mary, but our clan will be invincible when it shall be strengthened by such a powerful graff as thou! Tell me, what wouldst thou be good for, boy?”
“I could draw a bow at a pinch,” said the boy. “But I must needs confess that I were better for the service of some gentle lady’s bower. I’d willingly be thy fair daughter the Lady Matilda’s page; and I’d serve her right faithfully.”
“If Bigla should fancy thy ugly face, I care not if she should have thee,” said Gibbon More, “for though thy countenance be homely, it would seem to be honest.”
“Make me a Cumin, and the lady shall have no cause to complain of me,” replied the boy.
“Thou shalt have thy wish then, boy, without further delay,” said Gibbon More; and he straightway lifted up the youth, and, with more than ordinary gentleness, he performed the ceremony of the threefold ablution on him.
Archy Abhach, now converted into Archy Cumin, was speedily installed in his new office as page to the Lady Bigla, and, in his very first interview, he contrived to establish himself very firmly in the good graces of his fair mistress. But what might have been considered more wonderful, he made a no less favourable impression upon her handmaiden, a matter which jealousy might have rendered more difficult with any attendant of a less amiable disposition than the attached Agnes possessed.