‘Ye’ll get a pair o’ burned boots!’ roared the man in the doorway with sudden warmth.
Speid came out from the shadow. He had not bargained for this. Silence fell at once upon the assembly, and it occurred to him that he would do well to say a few words to these, his new dependents. He paused, not knowing how to address them.
‘Friends,’ he began at last, ‘I see that you mean this—this display as a kind welcome to me.’
‘Just that,’ observed a voice in the crowd.
‘I know very little about Whanland, and I do not even know your names. But I shall hope to be friendly with you all. I mean to live here and to try my best to do well by everybody. I hope I have your good wishes.’
‘Ye’ll hae that!’ cried the voice; and a man, far gone in intoxication, who had absently filled the tin mug he had drained with small stones, rattled it in accompaniment to the approving noise which followed these words.
‘I thank you all,’ said the young man, as it subsided.
Then he turned and went up the fields to the house.
And that was how Gilbert Speid came back to Whanland.