and by! Already he had begun to foreshadow this truth: God would
keep it for him.

He had set out before the sun was up, for he would not be met by
friends or acquaintances. Avoiding the well-known farmhouses and
occasional village, he took his way up the river, and about noon
came to a hamlet where no one knew him--a cluster of straw-roofed
cottages, low and white, with two little windows each. 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.