She had been brought up in the work-house; after that she belonged to no one.

Her mind was a little astray: she had strong, rude, strange ideas of her own; she would not be humble and work day in, day out, like other folk, and for that reason she never throve in the world.

She lived here and there, and did this and that.

All the town knew her; she was just 'Betty Lamb'; no one expected aught of her.
It was a small town in the west of Scotland.

On different sides of it long lanes of humble cottages straggled out into the fields; the cottages had grey stone walls and red tiled roofs.