'But ye can be naebody but my Geordie. Haith, man!' she went on,
regarding him once more from head to foot, 'but ye're a credit to
me, I maun alloo. Weel, gie me a sovereign, an' I s' never come
near ye.'
Poor Shargar in his despair turned half mechanically towards Robert.
He felt that it was time to interfere.
'You forget, mother,' said Shargar, turning again to her, and
speaking English now, 'it was I that claimed you, and not you that
claimed me.'
She seemed to have no idea of what he meant.
'Come up the road here, to oor public, an' tak a glaiss, wuman,'
said Falconer. 'Dinna haud the fowk luikin' at ye.'
The temptation of a glass of something strong, and the hope of
getting money out of them, caused an instant acquiescence. She said
a few words to the young woman, who proceeded at once to tie her
donkey's head to the tail of the other cart.
'Shaw the gait than,' said the elder, turning again to Falconer.
Shargar and he led the way to St. Paul's Churchyard, and the woman
followed faithfully. The waiter stared when they entered.
'Bring a glass of whisky,' said Falconer, as he passed on to their
private room. When the whisky arrived, she tossed it off, and
looked as if she would like another glass.
'Yer father 'ill hae ta'en ye up, I'm thinkin', laddie?' she said,
turning to her son.
'No,' answered Shargar, gloomily. 'There's the man that took me up.'
'An' wha may ye be?' she asked, turning to Falconer.
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