'Mr. Falconer,' said Shargar.
'No a son o' Anerew Faukner?' she asked again, with evident
interest.
'The same,' answered Robert.
'Well, Geordie,' she said, turning once more to her son, 'it's like
mither, like father to the twa o' ye.'
'Did you know my father?' asked Robert, eagerly.
Instead of answering him she made another remark to her son.
'He needna be ashamed o' your company, ony gait--queer kin' o' a
mither 'at I am.'
'He never was ashamed of my company,' said Shargar, still gloomily.
'Ay, I kent yer father weel eneuch,' she said, now answering
Robert--'mair by token 'at I saw him last nicht. He was luikin' nae
that ill.'
Robert sprung from his seat, and caught her by the arm.
'Ow! ye needna gang into sic a flurry. He'll no come near ye, I s'
warran'.'
'Tell me where he is,' said Robert. 'Where did you see him? I'll
gie ye a' 'at I hae gin ye'll tak me till him.'
'Hooly! hooly! Wha's to gang luikin' for a thrum in a hay-sow?'
returned she, coolly. 'I only said 'at I saw him.'
'But are ye sure it was him?' asked Falconer.
'Ay, sure eneuch,' she answered.
'What maks ye sae sure?'
''Cause I never was vrang yet. Set a man ance atween my twa een,
an' that 'll be twa 'at kens him whan 's ain mither 's forgotten
'im.'
'Did you speak to him?'
'Maybe ay, an' maybe no. I didna come here to be hecklet afore a
jury.'
'Tell me what he's like,' said Robert, agitated with eager hope.
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