"A houseless stranger! Rin Margaret and open the door and let him in."
"I'm feart, mother," replied the timid girl, holding back, and putting her finger to her mouth.
"Feart, ye little cowardly thing; what are ye feart for?" exclaimed Mrs Grahame, hastening herself to the door. "Wha wad do us ony harm, ye gowk," she continued, as she undid the fastenings of the door; "and is't feer, think ye, that's to hinder us frae gien shelter to the shelterless, or food to the hungry?"
As she uttered the last word, she flung the door widely and boldly open; and there entered a figure which might well have appalled even the stout heart of Margaret Grahame. This figure was that of a man of gigantic stature and powerful frame, wearing a steel cap and shirt of mail that glanced through the openings of a leathern doublet by which it was covered, and in some measure concealed. From a belt which passed over his right shoulder, depended a sword of dimension corresponding to the tremendous strength indicated by the proportions of the wearer; and in another belt, which passed round his middle, and which was joined in front by a silver clasp, part of whose fashioning displayed two lion's heads, was stuck a richly hilted dagger. A small silver bugle horn, which was suspended from his neck by a chain of the same metal, completed his appointments.
On the entrance of this formidable figure, the little girl uttered a scream of terror, and flew to a remote corner of the apartment. The gigantic stranger smiled, and, turning to her mother, said—
"I am sorry that my appearance is so alarming as to make young ladies fly me. I would have them believe that I would much sooner protect than injure them. God forbid it should ever be otherwise. Come hither, my little primrose, and let me assure thee of all safety at my hands." And the stranger drew out a silken purse and took from it a small gold coin, which he seemed desirous of presenting to the little fugitive fair one. He was, however, interrupted.
"Never mind her, sir; never mind her," said her mother, who now perceived that her guest was a person apparently of some note; "she'll sune learn no to be sae frichtened for the men. Sit doon, sir, sit doon. Tak a seat, and throw aff your wat jerkin, and I'll gie ye a pair o' my puir gude-man's stockins to draw on, for I'm sure ye're soakit to the skin; and a pair o' slippers to yer feet." And while the kindly-hearted and hospitable woman was thus rattling away, she was actively employed in seeking out the various comforts which she enumerated.
In a very few minutes after, the portly figure of the stranger filled the favourite arm-chair, by the fire, of Mrs Grahame's late husband, in as comfortable a plight as the hospitable attentions of his hostess could place him. Several of these, however, he declined. He would not part with his boots, nor divest himself of any part of his apparel or appointments, excepting his steel cap and sword, both of which he placed on the floor close by his chair, as if desirous that they should be within reach on the slightest appearance of emergency.
"Now, my good dame," said the stranger, after enjoying for a few minutes the invigorating warmth of a blazing fire, which his hostess had heaped with faggots for his comfort, "I must be plain enough to tell ye that I am famishing of hunger, and that these barley bannocks of yours look most tempting."
"And do ye think, sir, I wasna gaun to mak ye an offer o' a tastin o' them? That wad be a gay churlish like thing, I think; I was but waiting till they war ready, to place some o' them before ye, wi' a soup milk, and a bit butter, cheese, and a cauler egg or twa. Ye'll hae them a' in ten minutes, and welcome."