their luncheon or dinner in a little room
just off the shop, Alexander the Small always sitting or kneeling on a
'creepie,' holding his plate down firmly with the left hand and eating
with the right, whether the food be fish, porridge, or broth. In the
Phin family the person who does not hold his plate down runs the risk of
losing it to one of the other children or to the dogs, who, with eager
eye and reminding paw, gather round the hospitable board, licking their
chops hopefully.

I enjoy these scenes very much, but, alas! I can no longer witness them
as often as formerly.

This morning Mrs. Phin greeted me with some embarrassment.

"Maybe ye'll no' ken me," she said, her usually clear speech a little
blurred. "It's the teeth. I've mislaid 'em somewhere. I paid far too
much siller for 'em to wear 'em ilka day. Sometimes I rest 'em in the
teabox to keep 'em awa' frae the bairns, but I canna find 'em theer.
I'm thinkin' maybe they'll be in the rice, but I've been ower thrang to
luik!"

This anecdote was too rich to keep to myself, but its unconscious humour
made no impression upon Salemina, who insisted upon the withdrawal of
our patronage. I have tried to persuade her that, whatever may be said
of tea and rice, we run no risk in buying eggs; but she is relentless.

. . . .

The kirkyard where Rab's two predecessors have been laid, and where Rab
will lie when Mrs. Phin has 'boxed' him, is a sleepy little place set on
a gentle slope of ground, softly shaded by willow and yew trees. It is
enclosed by a stone wall, into which an occasional ancient tombstone
is built, its name and date almost obliterated by stress of time and
weather.

We often walk through its quiet, myrtle-bordered paths on our way to
the other end of the village, where Mrs. Bruce, the flesher, keeps an
unrivalled assortment of beef and mutton. The headstones, many of them
laid flat upon the graves, are interesting to us because of their quaint
inscriptions, in which the occupation of the deceased is often stated
with modest pride and candour. One expects to see the achievements of
the soldier, the sailor, or the statesman carved in the stone that marks
his resting-place, but to our eyes it is strange enough to read that the
subject of eulogy was a plumber, tobacconist, maker of golf-balls, or
a golf champion; in which latter case there is a spirited etching
or bas-relief of the dead hero, with knickerbockers, cap, and clubs
comple