Sara Jeannette Duncan, 1861-1922 (aka Mrs. Everard Cotes)

The Imperialist

1904




Chapter I

It would have been idle to inquire into the antecedents,
or even the circumstances, of old Mother Beggarlegs. She
would never tell; the children, at all events, were
convinced of that; and it was only the children, perhaps,
who had the time and the inclination to speculate. Her
occupation was clear; she presided like a venerable
stooping hawk, over a stall in the covered part of the
Elgin market-place, where she sold gingerbread horses
and large round gingerbread cookies, and brown sticky
squares of what was known in all circles in Elgin as
taffy. She came, it was understood, with the dawn; with
the night she vanished, spending the interval on a not
improbable broomstick. Her gingerbread was better than
anybody's; but there was no comfort in standing, first
on one foot and then on the other, while you made up your
mind--the horses were spirited and you could eat them a
leg at a time, but there was more in the cookies--she
bent such a look on you, so fierce and intolerant of
vacillation. She belonged to the group of odd characters,