The countryside and its inhabitants did not appeal to Christian, but this amazing intruder was like no one she had ever seen before. She guessed that he was a beggar, and she brushed aside his announcement of news as merely a method of attracting attention.
“You are one of the few persons in these parts who can afford to keep a coach,” she remarked.
A broad smile overspread his ribald countenance, like the sun irradiating a public-house.
“Dod, ma leddy, a’d think shame to visit ye on fut,” said he, with a wag of his head.
“You have better reasons than that,” she replied rather grimly.
“Aye, aye, they’re baith awa’,” said he, looking at the place where his legs should have been. “A’m an ill sicht for the soutars!”
She threw back her head and laughed a little.
She had seen no one for months, with the exception of Archie, who was so quick in mind and speech, and the humour of this vagabond on wheels took her fancy. There was no whining servility about him, in spite of his obvious profession.
The horrified face of a maidservant appeared for one moment at a window, then vanished, struck back by the unblessed sight of her mistress, that paralyzing, unapproachable power, jesting, apparently, with Skirling Wattie, the lowest of the low. The girl was a native of Forfar, the westernmost point of the beggar’s travels, and she had often seen him in the streets.