to the schule wi' ye! Ye get neither bite nor sup in my hoose the
day."

The three MacWalter children were sitting at the table taking their
porridge and milk with horn spoons. The ham was skirling and frizzling
in the pan. It gave out a good smell, but that did not cost Kit Kennedy
a thought. He knew that that was not for the like of him. He would as
soon have thought of wearing a white linen shirt or having the lairdship
of a barony, as of getting ham to his breakfast. But after his morning's
work, he had a sore heart enough to miss his porridge.

But he knew that it was no use to argue with Mistress MacWalter. So he
went outside and walked up and down in the snow. He heard the clatter of
dishes as the children, Rob, Jock, and Meysie MacWalter, finished their
eating, and Meysie set their bowls one within the other and carried them
into the back-kitchen to be ready for the washing. Meysie was nearly
ten, and was Kit's very good friend. Jock and Rob, on the other hand,
ran races who should have most tales to tell of his misdoings at home,
and also at the village school.

"Kit Kennedy, ye scoondrel, come in this meenit an' get the dishes
washen afore yer uncle tak's the 'Buik,'"[7] cried Mistress MacWalter,
who was a religious woman, and came forward regularly at the half-yearly
communion in the kirk of Duntochar. She did not so much grudge Kit his
meal of meat, but she had her own theories of punishment. So she called
Kit in to wash the dishes from which he had never eaten. Meysie stood
beside them, and dried for him, and her little heart was sore. There was
something in the bottom of some of them, and this Kit ate quickly and
furtively--Meysie keeping a watch that her mother was not coming. The
day was now fairly broken, but the sun had not yet risen.

[Footnote 7: Has family worship.]

"Tak' the pot oot an' clean it. Gie the scrapins' to the dogs!" ordered
Mistress MacWalter.

Kit obeyed. Tyke and Tweed followed with their tails over their backs.
The white wastes glimmered in the grey of the morning. It was rosy where
the sun was going to rise behind the great ridge of Ben Arrow, which
looked, smoothly covered with snow as it was, exactly like a gigantic
turnip-pit. At the back of the milkhouse Kit set down the pot, and with
a horn spoon which he took from his pocket he shared the scraping of the
pot equally into three parts, dividing it mathematically by lines drawn
up from the bottom. It was a good big pot, an