Why had he not met him in his long ramble through the town?
They might have gone home together.
At the corner of Botcher-gate and English Street there stood two shops, and as Robbie passed them the shopkeepers were engaged in an animated conversation on the event of the morning.

"I saw him go by with the little daft man; yes, I did.

I was just taking down my shutters, as it might be so," said one of the two men, imitating the piece of industry in question.
"Deary me! What o'clock might that be ?" asked the other.
"Well, as I say, I was just taking down my shutters, as it might be so," imitating the gesture again.

"I'd not sanded my floor, nor yet swept out my shop; so it might have been eight, and it might have been short of eight, and maybe it was somewhere between the three quarters and the hour--that's as _I_ reckon it." "Deary me! deary me!" responded the other shopkeeper, whose blood was obviously curdling at the bare recital of these harrowing details.
Robbie walked on.

Eight o'clock! Then he had been but two hours late--two poor little hours! Robbie reflected with vexation and bitterness on the many hours which must have been wasted or ill spent since he left Wythburn on Sunday.
He begrudged the time that he had given to rest and sleep.
Well, well, it was all over now; and out of Carlisle, through the Botcher-gate, and down the road up which he came, Robbie turned with weary feet.