CHAPTER IX: LONDON STREETS


Leaving Davy to keep the sloop, the two fishermen went on shore.
Passing from the narrow precincts of the river, they found themselves
at once in the roar of London city. Stunned at first, then excited,
then bewildered, then dazed, without plan to guide their steps,
they wandered about until, unused to the hard stones, their feet
ached. It was a dull day in March. A keen wind blew round the
corners of the streets. They wished themselves at sea again.

"Sic a sicht o' fowk!" said Blue Peter.

"It's hard to think," rejoined Malcolm, "what w'y the God 'at made
them can luik efter them a' in sic a tumult. But they say even the
sheep dog kens ilk sheep i' the flock 'at 's gien him in chairge."

"Ay, but ye see," said Blue Peter, "they're mair like a shoal o'
herrin' nor a flock o' sheep."

"It's no the num'er o' them 'at plagues me," said Malcolm. "The
gran' diffeeculty is hoo He can lat ilk ane tak' his ain gait an'
yet luik efter them a'. But gien He does't, it stan's to rizzon it
maun be in some w'y 'at them 'at's sae luikit efter canna by ony
possibeelity un'erstan'."

"That's trowth, I'm thinkin'. We maun jist gi'e up an' confess
there's things abune a' human comprehension."

"Wha kens but that maybe 'cause i' their verra natur' they're ower