He walked
straight through it not meaning to stop; but, spying in front of the
last cottage a rough stone seat under a low, widespreading elder
tree, was tempted to sit down and rest a little. The day was now
hot, and the shadow of the tree inviting.
He had but seated himself when a woman came to the door of the
cottage, looked at him for a moment, and probably thinking him, from
his bare feet, poorer than he was, said--
"Wad ye like a drink?"
"Ay, wad I," answered Donal, "--a drink o' watter, gien ye please."
"What for no milk?" asked the woman.
"'Cause I'm able to pey for 't," answered Donal.
"I want nae peyment," she rejoined, perceiving his drift as little
as probably my reader.
"An' I want nae milk," returned Donal.
"Weel, ye may pey for 't gien ye like," she rejoined.
"But I dinna like," replied Donal.
"Weel, ye're a some queer customer!" she remarked.
"I thank ye, but I'm nae customer, 'cep' for a drink o' watter," he
persisted, looking in her face with a smile; "an' watter has aye
been gr?tis sin' the days o' Adam--'cep' maybe i' toons i' the het
pairts o' the warl'."
The woman turned into the cottage, and came out again presently with
a delft basin, holding about a pint, full of milk, yellow and rich.
"There!" she said; "drink an' be thankfu'."
"I'll be thankfu' ohn drunken," said Donal. "I thank ye wi' a' my
heart.
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