llowed him.

"I'm thinking he's got his chain fast," said the farm-bailiff; "if
onybody that understood the beastie daured to get near him----"

"I'll get him," said John Broom, casting down his hat.

"Ye'll get yer neck thrawed," said the farm-bailiff.

"We won't hear of it," said the little ladies.

But to their horror, John Broom kicked off his shoes, after which he
spat upon his hands (a shock which Miss Kitty thought she never could
have survived), and away he went up the willow.

It was not an easy tree to climb, and he had one or two narrow escapes,
which kept the crowd breathless, but he shook the hair from his eyes,
moistened his hands afresh, and went on. The farm-bailiff's far-away
heart was stirred. No Scotchman is insensible to gallantry. And courage
is the only thing a "canny" Scot can bear to see expended without
return.

"John Broom," screamed Miss Betty, "come down! I order, I command you to
come down."

The farm-bailiff drew his speckled hat forward to shade his upward gaze,
and folded his arms.

"Dinna call on him, leddies," he said, speaking more quickly than usual.
"Dinna mak him turn his head. Steady, lad! Grip wi' your feet. Spit on
your pawms, man."

Once the boy trod on a rotten branch, and as he drew back his foot, and
it came crashing down, the farm-bailiff set his teeth, and Miss Kitty
fainted in Thomasina's arms.

"I'll reward anyone who'll fetch him down," sobbed Miss Betty. But John
Broom seated himself on the same branch as the cockatoo, and undid the
chain and prepared his hands for the downward journey.

"You've got a rare perch, this time," said he. And Pretty Cocky crept
towards him, and rubbed its head against him and chuckled with joy.

What dreams of liberty in the tree tops, with John Broom for a
playfellow, passed through his crested head, who shall say? But when he
found that his friend meant to take him prisoner, he became very angry
and much alarmed. And when John Broom grasped him by both legs and began
to descend, Cocky pecked him vigorously. But the boy held the back of
his head towards him, and went steadily down.

"Weel done!" roared the farm-bailiff. "Gently, lad! Gude save us! ha'e
a care o' yoursen. That's weel. Keep your pow at him. Dinna let the
beast get to your een."

But when John Broom was so near the ground as to be safe, the
farm-bailiff turned wrathfully upon his son, who had been gazing
open-mouthed at the sight which had so interested his