"I don't understand a word," said she, puzzled and angry.

"He was a Scotsman: and you find it a far cry to Loch Awe.
Well, well--to resume--

"'Into your garth this day I did pursue--'"

"by 'garth' meaning 'garden': a good word, and why the devil it
should be obsolescent is more than I can tell you--"

But here my father cut him short. "My good Mrs. Ede," said he,
turning to the woman, "I believe this young man intended no harm to
you and very little to your garden. You are quits with him at any
rate. Take this shilling, step inside, and choose him a fair red
rose for the price and also in token of your forgiveness, while he
picks up his hat which is lying yonder in the dust."

"Hey?" The youth started back, for the first time perceiving the
badges in our hats. "Are you too, sirs, of this company of the
rose?" His face fell, but with an effort he recovered himself and
smiled.

"You are not disappointed, I hope?" inquired my father.

"Why--to tell you the truth, sir--I had looked for a rendezvous of
careless jolly fellows. For cavaliers of your quality it never
occurred to me to bargain." He held up a flap of his ragged coat and
shook it ruefully.