e attempt at decoration, and one house
with the pepperpot turrets which Scotish architecture has borrowed from
the French chateau. The heart of the town was a yet narrower,
close-built street, with several short closes and wynds opening out of
it--all of which had ancient looking houses. There were shops not a
few, but their windows were those of dwellings, as the upper parts of
their buildings mostly were. In those shops was as good a supply of
the necessities of life as in a great town, and cheaper. You could not
get a coat so well cut, nor a pair of shoes to fit you so tight without
hurting, but you could get first-rate work. The streets were unevenly
paved with round, water-worn stones: Donal was not sorry that he had
not to walk far upon them.

The setting sun sent his shadow before him as he entered the place. He
kept the middle of the street, looking on this side and that for the
hostelry whither he had despatched his chest before leaving home. A
gloomy building, apparently uninhabited, drew his 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'