attention, and sent a strange thrill through him as his eyes fell
upon it. It was of three low stories, the windows defended by iron
stanchions, the door studded with great knobs of iron. A little way
beyond he caught sight of the sign he was in search of. It swung in
front of an old-fashioned, dingy building, with much of the
old-world look that pervaded the town. The last red rays of the sun
were upon it, lighting up a sorely faded coat of arms. The
supporters, two red horses on their hind legs, were all of it he
could make out. The crest above suggested a skate, but could hardly
have been intended for one. A greedy-eyed man stood in the doorway,
his hands in his trouser-pockets. He looked with contemptuous
scrutiny at the bare-footed lad approaching him. He had black hair
and black eyes; his nose looked as if a heavy finger had settled
upon its point, and pressed it downwards: its nostrils swelled wide
beyond their base; underneath was a big mouth with a good set of
teeth, and a strong upturning chin--an ambitious and greedy face.
But ambition is a form of greed.

"A fine day, landlord!" said Donal.

"Ay," answered the man, without changing the posture of one taking
his ease against his own door-post, or removing his hands from his
pockets, but looking Donal up and down with conscious superiority,
then resting his eyes on the bare feet and upturned trousers.

"This'll be the Morven Arms, I'm thinkin'?" said Donal.

"It taksna muckle thoucht to think that," returned the inn-keeper,
"whan there they hing!"