CHAPTER V.
THE COBBLER.
At the end of the street he came to a low-arched gateway in the middle of a poor-looking house.

Within it sat a little bowed man, cobbling diligently at a boot.

The sun had left behind him in the west a heap of golden refuse, and cuttings of rose and purple, which shone right in at the archway, and let him see to work.

Here was the very man for Donal! A respectable shoemaker would have disdained to patch up the shoes he carried--especially as the owner was in so much need of them.
"It's a bonny nicht," he said.
"Ye may weel mak the remark, sir!" replied the cobbler without looking up, for a critical stitch occupied him.

"It's a balmy nicht." "That's raither a bonny word to put til't!" returned Donal.