The waiting Mr.Heritage, seeing he eyes moving in his direction, took off his cap with a brave gesture and advanced.

"Glorious weather, madam," he declared.
"English," whispered Dickson to the woman, in explanation.
She examined the Poet's neat clothes and Mr.McCunn's homely garments, and apparently found them reassuring.

"Come in," she said shortly.

"I see ye're wilfu' folk and I'll hae to dae my best for ye." A quarter of an hour later the two travellers, having been introduced to two spotless beds in the loft, and having washed luxuriously at the pump in the back yard, were seated in Mrs.Morran's kitchen before a meal which fulfilled their wildest dreams.

She had been baking that morning, so there were white scones and barley scones, and oaten farles, and russet pancakes.