nd
sugar, tea and bloaters, starch and gingham, lead pencils and
sausages, lie side by side cosily. Boxes of pins are kept on top of
kegs of herrings. Tins of coffee are distributed impartially anywhere
and everywhere, and the bacon sometimes reposes in a glass case with
small wares and findings, out of the reach of Alexander's dogs.

Alexander is one of a brood, or perhaps I should say three broods, of
children which wander among the barrels and boxes and hams and winseys
seeking what they may devour,--a handful of sugar, a prune, or a
sweetie.

We often see the bairns at 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
tea-box 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
humor 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 inclosed 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
unrivaled assortment of beef a