t. "Of course I knew that all along. We shall have to
get a night's lodging, and go on to-morrow."

"But who'll give it to us?" asked the practical Duncan. "There isn't any
houses."

"Oh, well! we shall come to some," Elsie said.

"Do you think I might take off my boots and stockings? they seem so
heavy like," Duncan asked.

"If you like to carry 'em," Elsie replied shortly. "We'll want 'em when
we get to London. Hark! I can hear a cart coming."

Yes, sure enough there was a sound of wheels, and presently there came
into sight a man driving a small cart, drawn by a miserable,
starved-looking horse, that shambled along with its head held down as if
ready to drop. The cart was a dilapidated-looking affair, and the man
who drove was well in keeping with his vehicle. He was clad in tattered
garments, surmounted by an old sack, fastened together round his
shoulders with a wooden skewer. His hair was coarse and matted, looking
as if a comb had never made acquaintance with it, his face unmistakably
emaciated, in spite of the dark hue it wore from constant exposure.

As he gradually overtook them, Elsie stood by the roadside, and beckoned
to him to stop.

"How far are we from the houses?" she asked.

The man scratched his head and stared for a few seconds, then he
replied, "Don't know of none this side o' Killochrie."

"How far is Killochrie?" Elsie asked.

"Weel, seven miles and a bittock--so--more or less."

Elsie stood still in perplexity. A Scottish mile is reckoned to be two
English ones, and the bittock might mean anything--another Scottish mile
or two, as the case might be. The prospect was not encouraging.

"Isn't there any house at all?" Elsie asked.

"Well, there's not to say a house--a croft or two an' a cottage. Where
would you be going?"

"Oh, to Killochrie, that's just where!" Elsie answered very quickly,
with a glance at Duncan.

"Ah, weel!" the man replied, waiting in stock silence for some one else
to speak.

"Can you tell us the time?" Elsie asked.

"It might be five, or getting on to six, thereabouts," the man replied.

So late, and a matter of fifteen miles about to the nearest
resting-place! What was to be done?

"Are you going to Killochrie?" Elsie asked suddenly.

"Weel, noa, not that--along the road."

"Would you mind our getting into the cart?"

The man scratched his head again, and looked at her in silence. Elsie
began to think he was a little daft. Presently he replied, "Yo