ge that isna burned," suggested Ailie. Such pitiful poverty of
the imagination!

"Nae, it's bread, an' butter, an' strawberry jam, an' tea wi' cream an'
sugar, an' cauld chuckie at a snawy picnic," announced Mr. Traill. And
there it was, served very quickly and silently, after some manner of
magic. Bobby had to stand on the fourth chair to eat his dinner, and
when he had despatched it he sat up and viewed the little party with the
liveliest interest and happiness.

"Tammy," Ailie said, when her shyness had worn off, "it's like the grand
tales ye mak' up i' yer heid."

"Preserve me! Does the wee mannie mak' up stories?"

"It's juist fulish things, aboot haein' mair to eat, an' a sonsie doggie
to play wi', an' twa gude legs to tak' me aboot. I think 'em oot at
nicht when I canna sleep."

"Eh, laddie, do ye noo?" Mr. Traill suddenly had a terrible "cauld in
'is heid," that made his eyes water. "Hoo auld are ye?"

"Five, gangin' on sax."

"Losh! I thoucht ye war fifty, gangin' on saxty." Laughter saved the day
from overmoist emotions. And presently Mr. Traill was able to say in a
business-like tone:

"We'll hae to tak' ye to the infirmary. An' if they canna mak' yer legs
ower ye'll get a pair o' braw crutches that are the niest thing to gude
legs. An' syne we'll see if there's no' a place in Heriot's for a sma'
laddie that mak's up bonny tales o' his ain in the murky auld Cunzie
Neuk."

Now the gay little feast was eaten, and early dark was coming on. If Mr.
Traill had entertained the hope that Bobby had recovered from his grief
and might remain with him, he was disappointed. The little dog began to
be restless. He ran to the door and back; he begged, and he scratched
on the panel. And then he yelped! As soon as the door was opened he shot
out of it, tumbled down the stairway and waited at the foot impatiently
for the lower door to be unlatched. Ailie's thin, swift legs were left
behind when Bobby dashed to the kirkyard.

Tammy followed at a surprising pace on his rude crutches, and Mr. Traill
brought up the rear. If the children could not smuggle the frantic
little dog inside, the landlord meant to put him over the wicket and, if
necessary, to have it out with the caretaker, and then to go before the
kirk minister and officers with his plea. He was still concealed by the
buildings, from the alcoved gate, when he heard Mr. Brown's gruff voice
taking the frightened bairns to task.

"Gie me the dog; an' dinna ye