72. The Little Minister

there? Whatever it is, I’ll uphaud she didna
do’t, for a simpler, franker-spoken crittur couldna
be

“ Never mind what I want her for. When
did you see her?”

“Tt would be about twal o’clock,”’ began
Wearyworld, unctuously, “when I was in the
Roods, ay, no lang afore I heard the disturbance
in the square. I was standing in the middle o’
the road, wondering how the door o’ the wind-
mill was swinging open, when she came up to me,

““« A fine nicht for the time o’ year,’ I says to
her, for nobody but the minister had spoken to
me a’ day.

«<A very fine nicht,’ says she, very frank,
though she was breathing quick like as if she
had been running. ‘You'll be police?’ says she.

““«]T am,’ says I, ‘and wha be you?’

“<[’m just a puir gypsy lassie,’ she says.

“« And what’s that in your hand?’ says I.

“¢Tt’s a horn I found in the wood,’ says she,
‘but it’s rusty and winna blaw.’

“IT laughed at hgr ignorance, and says I, ‘I
warrant I could blaw it.’

““<T dinna believe you,’ says she.

““«Gie me haud o’t,’ says I, and she gae it to
me, and I blew some bonny blasts on’t. Ay,
you see she didna ken the way o’t. ‘Thank you
kindly,’ says she, and she ran awa without even
minding to take the horn back again.”

“You incredible idiot!” cried the sheriff.
“Then it was you who gave the alarm?”

“What hae I done to madden you?” honest
Wearyworld asked, in perplexity.