brown-faced woman was standing by the door, and greeted me with the kindly

shyness of moorland places. When I asked for a night’s lodging she said I was

welcome to the “bed in the loft”, and very soon she set before me a hearty meal

of ham and eggs, scones, and thick sweet milk.

 

At the darkening her man came in from the hills, a lean giant, who in one step

covered as much ground as three paces of ordinary mortals.

 

They asked me no questions, for they had the perfect breeding of all dwellers in

the wilds, but I could see they set me down as a kind of dealer, and I took some

trouble to confirm their view. I spoke a lot about cattle, of which my host knew

little, and I picked up from him a good deal about the local Galloway markets,

which I tucked away in my memory for future use. At ten I was nodding in my

chair, and the “bed in the loft” received a weary man who never opened his eyes

till five o’clock set the little homestead a-going once more.

 

They refused any payment, and by six I had breakfasted and was striding

southwards again. My notion was to return to the railway line a station or two

farther on than the place where I had alighted yesterday and to double back. I

reckoned that that was the safest way, for the police would naturally assume

that I was always making farther from London in the direction of some western

port. I thought I had still a good bit of a start, for, as I reasoned, it would

take some hours to fix the blame on me, and several more to identify the fellow

who got on board the train at St Pancras.