ul, and very civil
in her manners. Therefore I was surprised to hear her muttering to
herself. Turning, I saw she was very angry. She ceased her muttering
when she descried me observing her, and walked on in silence--was even
about to pass through the little wicket at the side of the larger gate
without any further salutation. Something had vexed her, and
instinctively I put my hand in my pocket, and pulled out a halfpenny
my father had given me that morning--very few of which came in my
way--and offered it to her. She took it with a half-ashamed glance, an
attempt at a courtesy, and a murmured blessing. Then for a moment she
looked as if about to say something, but changing her mind, she only
added another grateful word, and hobbled away. I pondered in a feeble
fashion for a moment, came to the conclusion that the Kelpie had been
rude to her, forgot her, and fell a-dreaming again. Growing at length
tired of doing nothing, I roused myself, and set out to seek Turkey.

I have lingered almost foolishly over this day. But when I recall my
childhood, this day always comes back as a type of the best of it.

I remember I visited Kirsty, to find out where Turkey was. Kirsty
welcomed me as usual, for she was always loving and kind to us; and
although I did not visit her so often now, she knew it was because I
was more with my father, and had lessons to learn in which she could
not assist me. Having nothing else to talk about, I told her of Eppie,
and her altered looks when she came out of the house. Kirsty
compressed her lips, nodded her head, looked serious, and made me no
reply. Thinking this was strange, I resolved to tell Turkey, which
otherwise I might not have done. I did not pursue the matter with
Kirsty, for I knew her well enough to know that her manner indicated a
mood out of which nothing could be drawn. Having learned where he was,
I set out to find him--close by the scene of our adventure with
Wandering Willie. I soon came in sight of the cattle feeding, but did
not see Turkey.

When I came near the mound, I caught a glimpse of the head of old
Mrs. Gregson's cow quietly feeding off the top of the wall from the
other side, like an outcast Gentile; while my father's cows, like the
favoured and greedy Jews, were busy in the short clover inside.
Grannie's cow managed to live notwithstanding, and I dare say gave as
good milk, though not perhaps quite so much of it, as ill-tempered
Hawkie. Mrs. Gregson's granddaughter