our early bedtime,
we usually spent the hours before going to sleep playing voyages
around the world under the bed-clothing. After mother had carefully
covered us, bade us good-night and gone downstairs, we set out on our
travels. Burrowing like moles, we visited France, India, America,
Australia, New Zealand, and all the places we had ever heard of; our
travels never ending until we fell asleep. When mother came to take a
last look at us, before she went to bed, to see that we were covered,
we were oftentimes covered so well that she had difficulty in finding
us, for we were hidden in all sorts of positions where sleep happened
to overtake us, but in the morning we always found ourselves in good
order, lying straight like gude bairns, as she said.

Some fifty years later, when I visited Scotland, I got one of my
Dunbar schoolmates to introduce me to the owners of our old home, from
whom I obtained permission to go upstairs to examine our bedroom
window and judge what sort of adventure getting on its roof must have
been, and with all my after experience in mountaineering, I found that
what I had done in daring boyhood was now beyond my skill.

Boys are often at once cruel and merciful, thoughtlessly hard-hearted
and tender-hearted, sympathetic, pitiful, and kind in ever changing
contrasts. Love of neighbors, human or animal, grows up amid savage
traits, coarse and fine. When father made out to get us securely
locked up in the back yard to prevent our shore and field wanderings,
we had to play away the comparatively dull time as best we could. One
of our amusements was hunting cats without seriously hurting them.
These sagacious animals knew, however, that, though not very
dangerous, boys were not to be trusted. One time in particular I
remember, when we began throwing stones at an experienced old Tom, not
wishing to hurt him much, though he was a tempting mark. He soon saw
what we were up to, fled to the stable, and climbed to the top of the
hay manger. He was still within range, however, and we kept the stones
flying faster and faster, but he just blinked and played possum
without wincing either at our best shots or at the noise we made. I
happened to strike him pretty hard with a good-sized pebble, but he
still blinked and sat still as if without feeling. "He must be
mortally wounded," I said, "and now we must kill him to put him out
of pain," the savage in us rapidly growing with indulgence. All took
heartily to t