not go wrong.

Fergus had given up the chase, and having met a policeman, was
talking to him, when Gibbie came up with the woman on his arm, and
passed them. Fergus again followed, sure of him now. Had not fear
of being recognized prevented him from passing them and looking, he
would have seen only a poor old thing, somewhere about sixty; but if
she had been beautiful as the morning, of course Gibbie would have
taken her all the same. He was the Gibbie that used to see the
drunk people home. Gibbies like him do not change; they grow.

After following them through several streets, Fergus saw them stop
at a door. Gibbie opened it with a key which his spy imagined the
woman gave him. They entered, and shut it almost in Fergus's face,
as he hurried up determined to speak. Gibbie led the poor shivering
creature up the stair, across the chaos of furniture, and into his
room, in the other corner next to Donal's. To his joy he found the
fire was not out. He set her in the easiest chair he had, put the
kettle on, blew the fire to a blaze, made coffee, cut bread and
butter, got out a pot of marmalade, and ate and drank with his
guest. She seemed quite bewildered and altogether unsure. I
believe she took him at last, finding he never spoke, for
half-crazy, as not a few had done, and as many would yet do. She
smelt of drink, but was sober, and ready enough to eat. When she
had taken as much as she would, Gibbie turned down the bed-clothes,
made a sign to her she was to sleep there, took the key from the
outside of the door, and put it in the lock on the inside, nodded a
good-night, and left her, closing the door softly, which he heard
her lock behind him, and going to Donal's room, where he slept.

In the morning he knocked at her door, but there was no answer, and
opening it, he found she was gone.

When he told Mistress Murkison what he had done, he was considerably
astonished at the wrath and indignation which instantly developed
themselves in the good creature's atmosphere. That her respectable
house should be made a hiding-place from the wind and a covert from
the tempest, was infuriating. Without a moment's delay, she began a
sweeping and scrubbing, and general cleansing of the room, as if all
the devils had spent the night in it. And then for the first time
Gibbie reflected, that, when he ran about the streets, he had never
been taken home--except once, to be put under the rod and staff of
the old woman