As he stood regarding him for a moment, anxious to discover with what sort of man he had to deal, he began to mutter.

Presently he ceased digging, drew himself up as straight as he could, and, leaning on his spade, went on, as if addressing his congregation of cabbages over the book-board of a pulpit.

And now his muttering took, to the ears of Cosmo, an indistinct shape like this: "Wha cares for an auld man like me?
I kenna what for there sud be auld men made! The banes o' me micht melt i' the inside o' me, an' never a sowl alive du mair for me nor berry me to get rid o' the stink! No 'at I'm that dooms auld i' mysel' them 'at wad hae my place wad hae me!" Here was a chance for him, Cosmo thought; for at least here was a fellow-countryman.

He went along the hedge therefore until he found a place where he could get through, and approached the man, who had by this time resumed his work, though after a listless fashion, turning over spadeful after spadeful, as if neither he nor the cabbages cared much, and all would be in good time if done by the end of the world.

As he came nearer, Cosmo read peevishness and ill-temper in every line of his countryman's countenance, yet he approached him with confidence, for Scotchmen out of their own country are of good report for hospitality to each other.
"Hoo's a' wi' ye ?" he cried, sending his mother-tongue as a pursuivant in advance.
"Wha's speirin?
an' what richt hae ye to speir ?" returned the old man in an angry voice, and lifting himself quickly, though with an aching sigh, looked at him with hard blue eyes.
"A countryman o' yer ain," answered Cosmo.
"Mony ane's that 'at's naething the better nor the walcomer.