, and
remained perfectly still for the space of about one quarter of a minute.
Then, jumping up with the pleased expression of one who felt that he
had done his duty, he was about to rush from the room, when Barret
stopped him.

"I'm glad to see that you say your prayers, at all events," he said.

"But I wouldn't say them if it wasn't for Milly," returned the urchin.
"I do it to please her. An' I wash an' brush myself, an' all that, just
'cause she likes me to do it. I'd neither wash, nor pray, nor brush,
nor anything, if it wasn't to please Milly--and mother," he added, after
a moment's reflection. "I like _them_, an' I don't care a button for
anybody else."

"What! for nobody else at all?"

"Well, yes, I forgot--I like Ivor, too."

"Is that the sick gamekeeper, Junkie?"

"Sick! no; he's the drunken keeper. Drunken Ivor, we call him--not to
his face, you know. Wouldn't we catch it if we did that! But I'm fond
of drunken Ivor, an' he's fond of me. He takes me out sometimes when he
goes to shoot rabbits and fish. Sometimes he's awful fierce, but he's
never fierce to his old mother that lives in the hut close behind
his--'cept when he's drunk. D'ee know"--the boy lowered his voice at
this point and looked solemn--"he very nearly killed his mother once,
when he was drunk, you know, an' when he came sober he cried--oh, just
as our Flo cries when she's bin whipped."

At this point the breakfast-bell pealed forth with, so to speak, a
species of clamorous enthusiasm by no means unusual in Scottish country
mansions, as if it knew that there was spread out a breakfast worth
ringing for. At the first sound of it, Junkie burst from the room, left
the door wide open, clattered along the passage, singing, yelling
vociferously as he went--and trundled downstairs like a retiring
thunderstorm.

The arrangements for the day at Kinlossie were usually fixed at the
breakfast hour, if they had not been settled the night before. There
was, therefore, a good deal to consult about during the progress of the
meal.

"You see, gentlemen," said the host, when the demands of nature were
partially satisfied, "friends who come to stay with me are expected to
select their occupations or amusements for the day as fancy or taste may
lead them. My house is `liberty hall.' Sometimes we go together on the
hills after grouse, at other times after red-deer. When the rivers are
in order, we take our rods and break up into parties. W