ntrue.

"Too drunk to git so far," said Long Kirby, kindly man.

"I reck'n the Cup is kind o' company to him," said Jim Mason. "Happen
it's lonesomeness as drives him here so much." And happen you were
right, charitable Jim.

"Best mak' maist on it while he has it, 'cos he'll not have it for
long," Tammas remarked amid applause.

Even Parson Leggy allowed--rather reluctantly, indeed, for he was but
human--that the little man was changed wonderfully for the better.

"But I am afraid it may not last," he said. "We shall see what happens
when Owd Bob beats him for the Cup, as he certainly will. That'll be the
critical moment."

As things were, the little man spent all his spare moments with the Cup
between his knees, burnishing it and crooning to Wullie:

"I never saw a fairer,
I never lo'ed a dearer,
And neist my heart I'll wear her,
For fear my jewel tine."

"There, Wullie! look at her! is she no bonnie? She shines like a
twinkle--twinkle in the sky." And he would hold it out at arm's length,
his head cocked sideways the better to scan its bright beauties.

The little man was very jealous for his treasure. David might not touch
it; might not smoke in the kitchen lest the fumes should tarnish its
glory; while if he approached too closely he was ordered abruptly away.

"As if I wanted to touch his nasty Cup!" he complained to Maggie. "I'd
sooner ony day--"

"Hands aff, Mr. David, immediate!" she cried indignantly. "'Pertinence,
indeed!" as she tossed her head clear of the big fingers that were
fondling her pretty hair.

So it was that M'Adam, on coming quietly into the kitchen one day,
was consumed with angry resentment to find David actually handling
the object of his reverence; and the manner of his doing it added a
thousandfold to the offence.

The boy was lolling indolently against the mantelpiece, his fair head
shoved right into the Cup, his breath dimming its lustre, and his two
hands, big and dirty, slowly revolving it before his eyes.

Bursting with indignation, the little man crept up behind the boy. David
was reading through the long list of winners.

"Theer's the first on 'em," he muttered, shooting out his tongue to
indicate the locality: "'Andrew Moore's Rough, 178--.' And theer agin--'
James Moore's Pinch, 179--.' And agin--'Beck, 182--.' Ah, and theer's
'im Tammas tells on! 'Rex, 183--,' and Rex, 183--.' Ay, but he was a
rare un by all tell-in's! If he'd nob'but won bu