Crockett Samuel Rutherford
Cleg Kelly, Arab of the City: His Progress and Adventures

ADVENTURE XXXIX.
THE ADVENTURE OF SNAP'S PORRIDGE

But he found Providence just over the wall. For there sat Vara and there was the great stone behind which they had spent the night. All his wanderings had just brought him back to where he had started from. But for all that he was exceedingly glad to see Vara.

He called her, standing still on the top of the wall. She started up as if she had heard a voice from the grave. And the face which she turned to him was colourless like chalk.

"Wi' Vara," said Hugh, "what's wrang? Your face looks terrible clean?"

"O, Boy Hugh – Boy Hugh," she cried, bursting into relieving tears, "it's you. What a night you have given me!"

But not a word of reproach came from the lips of Vara Kavannah. She had, indeed, enough to do to keep the babe quiet. For having run hither and thither over the moor looking for her brother, she had not had time to seek for any farmhouse where she could get some milk for Gavin's bottle.

In a little, however, they were again walking hand in hand, and Boy Hugh was pouring out all the story of his adventures in the Paradise of the House of Rascarrel.

Chiefly he dwelt upon the divine beauty and abounding merits of Miss Briggs.

"Dinna you think she was an angel frae heeven?" said Boy Hugh.

"I think she was a nasty, wicked, enticing little monkey!" burst out Vara. For though it is part of womanhood's privilege to put up with the truantry of mankind without complaint, it is too much to expect her to suffer gladly his praises of the Canaanitish women he may have collogued with upon his travels.

And then Vara walked a long way silent and with her head in the air. Hugh Boy kicked all the stones out of his path and was silent also.

Nevertheless, though in this sulky silence, they travelled steadily on and on. Horizon after horizon broke up, spread out to either side, streamed dispersedly past them, and recomposed itself again solidly behind them.

"I'm awesome hungry!" at last said Boy Hugh, humbly. Vara became full of compassion in a minute.

"And Vara has nothing to give ye!" she said; "poor Boy Hugh!"

The baby woke with a faint cry.

They had passed off the moor and were now come among inhabited houses again. They were just passing a little cottage which stood with its end to the road, as a little boy came out of the gate with a great bowl of porridge and milk in his hand.

"Snap! Snap!" he cried, and looked up and down the road. A small terrier pricked its ears briskly over a wall and then leaped down upon the road. "Here, Snap!" cried the boy.

Snap came slowly walking down the dusty highway. He smelled at the dish of porridge and milk. Then he sniffed loudly upon the nose of contempt. For he had just been dining richly in the outhouse on a rat which he had killed himself.

Vara's eyes blazed at the sight of the porridge and milk.

"O, gie that to the baby!" she cried, her eyes fairly sparkling fire. "Gie that to wee Gavin. The dog doesna want it!"

The little boy ran back into the house, crying out at the top of his voice, "O, mither, mither, here's a lassie wants to gie our Snap's porridge to a babby!"

A kindly-faced, apple-cheeked country woman came to the door of the cottage. She had been baking cakes, and she dusted the oatmeal off her hands as she stood there.

"Can I get the dog's porridge for the bairns? He doesna want them. 'Deed he doesna!" cried Vara, beseechingly.

"Of course, lassie, ye can hae the porridge, and welcome!" said the woman, doubtfully.

"O, thank ye, mem, thank ye!" cried Vara, pouncing instantly on the porridge, lest the permission should be withdrawn. In a minute she had put most of the milk into the babe's bottle and the rest into the hands of Boy Hugh, who fell upon the porridge unceremoniously with his fingers. Vara smiled as she looked. She was hungrier than either – but happy.

The woman stood watching the wolfish eagerness of the younger children at the sight of food with a strange look on her face. Her lip tightened and her eyes grew sterner. Suddenly Vara glanced up at her with frank blue Irish eyes, brightened by hunger and suffering. They looked through and through the woman at the door.

"Mither," said the boy, "they're eatin' up a' our Snap's porridge, and there will no be a drap left – "

The woman turned on him with a kind of gladness.

"Hold your tongue!" she said, with quite unnecessary vehemence. And she slapped her son smartly for no particular reason. The tears were running down her cheeks. She almost dragged the children into the house. Then and there she spread such a breakfast for them as Vara had been seeing in her dreams ever since she grew hungry. It seemed that Gavin grew visibly plumper before her very eyes, with the milk which he absorbed as a sponge takes up water. And there appeared to be no finality to Boy Hugh's appetite. He could always find room for just another scone, spread with fresh butter and overlaid with cool apple-jelly such as Vara had never in her life partaken of.

Vara herself was almost too happy to eat. But the kind woman pressed her and would not let her leave the table.

"But I hae naething to pay ye wi'!" said Vara, whose soul was great.

"Hoot, hear to the lassie! I wadna tak' pay frae the Queen if she caaed in aff the road to drink a dish of tea. My man's the Netherby carrier. But tell me what's brocht ye here, wi' sic a bairn?"

And Vara told her as much as was necessary.

"To Liverpool to find your faither," said the woman. "Ye dinna stir a fit till the morrow's morn, and then ye can get a ride wi' our John as far as Netherby, at ony rate."

Vara was more than grateful to her. She was the first person who had taken their quest seriously. So the carrier's wife kept them till night, and helped Vara to give the baby and Hugh a bath. Then she made Vara strip herself, and shut the door upon her till the girl had enjoyed such a tubful of warm water as she had never washed in before. As Vara was finishing and rubbing her slender, wearied body and blistered feet with a soft towel, the carrier's wife opened the door. "Put on these!" she said; "they were my wee Gracie's, and I canna bear to keep them in the house." Vara would have protested, but the woman shut the door with a slam.

When Vara came out, Gavin was sitting on the carrier's knees and plucking at his beard. For "our John" had come in and heard their story. He was a wise carrier, and knew better than to attempt to interfere with his wife's benevolences. Then what was Vara's astonishment to find the babe also clad in a new frock, and giving rustling evidence of fresh underclothing. She could hear Boy Hugh's voice outside. He and Snap's master had made up the peace, and were now out somewhere about the barn, encouraging Snap to possess himself of another dinner of rat.

The woman's wonderful kindness went to Vara's heart.

"Ye shouldna, oh, ye shouldna!" she said, and bowing her head in her hands, she wept as she had never done in the worst of all her sufferings.

"Hoot! can ye no haud your tongue, lassie?" said the carrier's wife. "So mony bairn's things were just a cumber and a thocht to me in this hoose. Our youngest (Tam there) is ten, an' we hae dune wi' that kind o' nonsense in this hoose. What are ye lauchin' at, guidman?" she cried, suddenly turning on the carrier, who had been quaintly screwing up his face.

"I wasna lauchin'," said "our John," his face suddenly falling to a quite preternatural gravity.

"They were juist a cumber and a care," continued the carrier's wife. "And they are better being o' some use to somebody."

"Now ye will lie down and sleep in the back room, till the guidman starts on his round at five i' the mornin'."

So the wearied children were put to bed in the "back room," and they fell asleep to the sound of psalm-singing. For the good carrier and his wife were praising the Lord. It is quite a mistake to suppose that most psalm-singers are hypocrites. Much of the good of the world is wrought by those who, being merry of heart, sing psalms.

ADVENTURE XL.
A NEW KIND OF HERO

Then with the morning came the new day. The bitterest blast was over for these small pilgrims. The night's rest, the clean clothes, the goodness of the kind carrier folk were new life to Vara. There was brighter hope in her heart as the carrier's wife set them under the blue hood of the light cart, for her "man" did not expect any heavy loads that day. The children, therefore, were to ride in the covered waggon. The good woman wept to let them go, and made Vara promise many a time, to be sure and send her a letter. As they went away she slipped half-a-crown into Vara's hand.

"For the baby!" she whispered, like one who makes a shamefaced excuse. And at that moment the carrier pretended to be specially busy about his harness.

But Hugh Boy had quarrelled again with Snap's master, and that enterprising youth sat on the fence opposite and made faces at the party, till his mother, turning round somewhat quickly, caught him in the act.

"Ye ill-set hyule," said she, "wait till I get ye!"

But her firstborn did not wait. On the other hand, he betook himself down the meadow with much alacrity. His mother's voice followed him.

"My lad, wait till bedtime. It'll dirl far waur then. 'Warm backs, guid bairns!' I'll learn you to make faces ahint my back."

And as Snap's master went down the meadow, the parts likely to be nocturnally affected began to burn and tingle.

And the thought of the interview she would have with her son in the evening did something to console the carrier's wife for the loss of the children to whom she had taken such a sudden liking.

The light cart went jingling on. The Netherby carrier whistled steadily as he sat on the edge of his driving-board, with his feet on the shaft. Every now and then he passed over a bag of peppermint drops to the children.

"Hae!" he said.

The Netherby carrier was a man of few words, and this was his idea of hospitality. Hugh Boy did not remember ever to have been so happy in his life. Kissing was very well in its way, though Vara had not been pleased when she heard of it. But it was nothing to sitting in a blue-hooded cart and hearing the click and jingle of brass-mounted harness. Now and then the carrier stopped at snug farm-houses, and went in to chaffer with the goodwife for her eggs. Then he left the horse in charge of Hugh Boy, and so completely won that small heart. When the carrier came out again, the farmer's wife mostly came too, and the bargaining and bantering were kept up as the cart receded from the door. Even when the blue-hooded cart was far down the loaning, a belated and forgetful goodwife would come running to some knowe-top, and from that eminence she would proceed to give further directions for commissions from the town.

"Mind ye buy the thread at Rob Heslop's – no at that upstart sieffer's at the corner, wi' his wax figgurs an' his adverteesements. I dinna haud wi' them ava'!"

For there are still uncouth and outlandish parts of the country, where the medical axiom that it is wicked and unprofessional to advertise holds good in practical commerce. Now the road toward England does not run directly through Netherby, but leaves the town a little to one side with its many spires and its warring denominations. From the outside Netherby looks like a home of ancient peace. But for all that, there were hardly two neighbour shopkeepers down all its long main street who belonged to the same religious denomination – the only exceptions being Dickson the baker and Henderson the butcher. But Henderson and Dickson did not speak to one another, having quarrelled about the singing of paraphrases in the Seceder kirk.

However, the poor benighted Kavannahs did not know one kirk from another. And what is worse, indeed held almost criminal in Netherby, they did not care.

It was here at the parting of the roads that John the carrier took his leave of them. His farewell was not effusive.

"Weel," he said, cracking his whip three times over, while he thought of the rest of his speech, "guid-day. Be sure and come back and see us, as the wife bade ye. The sooner the better!"

But he put a shilling into Hugh's hand as they parted.

"For peppermints!" he said.

Vara did not know when she might come to another town on her way, so she decided to buy a loaf in Netherby before going further. For though they never asked for food, except when driven by hunger, as in the case of Snap's dinner, yet since the night on the moor she had resolved to ask for shelter if they came to any house at nightfall. So after the carrier was gone, with many charges Vara left Hugh in care of Gavin and went into the town to make her markets.

Hugh Boy sat a good while by the roadside, till the time began to pass very dully. Then he became interested in the trains which kept shunting and whistling behind him. So he carried Gavin to the side of the railway line, where he could just see the road by which Vara would return. He was quite sure that he could not be doing any harm. Directly opposite there was a fascinating turn-table, upon which two men stood with iron poles in their hands wheeling round a great engine as if it had been a toy. This was really too much for Boy Hugh. Forgetting all about Vara's warning, he scrambled over the wire paling, and staggered across the netted lines in order to get a nearer view of the marvel.

But just at that moment up came the main line express twenty minutes behind time, and the engine-driver in a bad temper. And if Muckle Alick had not opposed the breadth of his beam to the buffer of Geordie Grierson's engine, this tale, so far at least as two of the Kavannahs were concerned, would have ended here. But when Muckle Alick gripped the children in his great arms, and made that spring to the side, the engine caught him so exactly in the right place that it did no more than considerably accelerate his lateral motion, and project him half-way up the bank. As has been recorded, Muckle Alick's first exclamation (which immediately became proverbial all over the Greenock and South-Eastern) was, "Is there aught broke, Geordie, think ye?"

They talked of getting up a testimonial to Muckle Alick. But the hero himself strongly discouraged the notion. Indeed, he went so far as to declare that he "wad gie the fule a ring on the lug that cam' to him wi' ony sic a thing!" This was a somewhat unusual attitude for a hero to assume in the circumstances. But it was quite genuine. And so well known was the horse-power of Alick's buffet, that it would have been easier to recruit a storming party in Netherby than a deputation to present a "token of esteem" to the head porter at Netherby Junction.

In time, however (though this is somewhat to anticipate the tale), there came from the Royal Humane Society a medal, together with a long paper setting forth the noble deed of the saving of the children. No notice of this ever appeared publicly in the local prints, to which such things are usually a godsend.

For Alick immediately put the medal in the bottom of his trunk, beneath his "best blacks" which he wore only twice a year at Sacraments.

He had heard that the editor of the "Netherby Chronicle and Advertiser" had collogued with the provost of the town to bring about this "fitting acknowledgment." Now Muckle Alick could not help the thing itself, but he could help people in Netherby getting to hear about it.

Muckle Alick called upon the editor of the "Chronicle." He found him in, and engaged in the difficult task of penning an editorial which would not alienate the most thin-skinned subscriber, but which would yet be calculated to exasperate the editor of the opposition local paper published in the next county.

"Maister Heron," said the head-porter, "I juist looked in to tell ye, that there's nocht to come oot in the 'Chronicle' aboot me the morn."

"But, my dear sir," said the editor, "the item has been specially communicated, and is already set up."

"Then it'll hae to be set doon again!" said Muckle Alick, firmly.

"Impossible, impossible, I do assure you, my dear friend," remonstrated the editor. He was proprietor – editor and proprietor in one. Such editors in agricultural communities are always polite to subscribers.

"But it's no onpossible. It's to be!" said Alick – "or there's no a paper will leave the junction the morn – aye, and there'll no be a paper sell't in this toon eyther."

It was not clear to the editor how Muckle Alick could bring about this result.

"But," said he, tapping the desk with his pen, "my dear sir, the stationmaster – the railway company – "

"Ow aye, I ken," said Muckle Alick, "there wad be a wark aboot it after, nae doot. But it's the morn I'm speakin' aboot, Maister Heron. It is possible I micht get the sack ower the head o' it – (though I'm thinkin' no). But that wadna help your papers to sell the morn." Alick paused to let this sink well in. Then he took his leave.

"Noo, mind, I'm tellin' ye. Guid day, Yedditur!"

That afternoon Alick presided at a gathering of the amalgamated paper boys of the town, being accredited representatives of all the various newsagents. The proceedings were private, and as soon as strangers were observed, the house was counted out (and stones thrown at them). But the general tenor of the resolutions passed may be gathered from the fact that when Mr. Heron heard of it, he ordered the junior reporter to "slate a novel" just come in – a novel by an eminent hand. "It's to make three quarters of a column, less two lines," he said.

So that we know from this, the length of the suppressed article on the presentation of a medal of the Royal Humane Society to "our noble and esteemed townsman, Mr. Alexander Douglas." The "Netherby Chronicle and Advertiser" enjoyed its normal circulation next day. And, after Muckle Alick had carefully searched every column of the paper, the parcels were forwarded from the junction with the usual promptitude and despatch.

But this is telling our tale "withershins about," as they say in Netherby. We return to Vara and her bairns.

ADVENTURE XLI.
"TWA LADDIES – AND A LASSIE."

Muckle Alick trotted the children soberly down the street, and at the foot he turned his long lumbering stride up a country road. For Alick had a little wife who was an expert market-gardener and beekeeper.

Her name was Mirren, and her size, as reported by her husband, was "near-aboots as big as twa scrubbers." It was for her sake and because he could not help himself, that Muckle Alick lived so far from his work.

"D'ye think that because I hae to put up wi' a great hulk like you, comin' hame at nicht smellin' o' cinders and lamp oil, that I'm gaun to leeve in a hut amang the coal waggons? Na, certes, gin ye want to hae Mirren Terregles to keep ye snug, ye maun e'en walk a mile or twa extra in the day. And it will be the better for keepin' doon that great muckle corporation o' yours!"

And that is the way that Muckle Alick Douglas lived out at Sandyknowes. It was to his small garden-girt house that he took the children.

"What's this ye hae fetched hame in your hand the nicht?" cried the little wife sharply, as she saw her husband come up the loaning. "It's no ilka wife that wad be pleased to hae a grown family brocht in on her like this!"

"Hoot, Mirren woman!" was all that Muckle Alick said, as he pushed Vara and Hugh in before him, Gavin nestling cosily in his arms the while.

"Whaur gat ye them, Alick?" said Mirren, going forward to look at the bairn in his arms. "They are bonny weans and no that ill put on."

Little Gavin was so content in the arms of Muckle Alick that he smiled. And his sweetness of expression struggling through the pinched look of hunger went right to the heart of Mirren, who, having no bairns of her own – "so far," as Muckle Alick remarked cautiously – had so much the more love for other people's. She turned on Vara, who stood looking on and smiling also. The little woman was almost fierce.

"What has been done to this bairn that he has never grown?" said Mirren Douglas, wife of Muckle Alick.

Vara flushed in her slow still way, at the imputation that she had not taken good care enough of her Gavin – to pleasure whom she would have given her life.

"I did the best I could," she said, "whiles we had to sleep oot a' nicht, an' whiles I had nae milk to gie him."

"Lassie! lassie!" cried Mirren Douglas, "what is this ye are tellin' me?"

"The truth," said Vara Kavannah, quietly; "Gavin and Boy Hugh and me hae walked a' the road frae Edinburgh. We hae sleepit in the hills, and – "

"But how cam' the bairn here?" asked Muckle Alick's fiercely tender little wife; "tell me quick!"

"I hae carried Gavin a' the road!" said Vara, simply.

"You, lassie!" cried Mirren, looking at the slip of pale girlhood before her, "it's juist fair unpossible!"

"But I did carry him. He's no that heavy when ye get the shawl weel set."

"O lassie, lassie, ye juist mak' me fair shamed," cried Mistress Douglas. "Alick, ye muckle bullock; what for are ye standin' there like a cuif? Gang ower to Mistress Fraser's and ask the lend o' her cradle. Thae bairns are gaun to bide – "

"But, wife, hae ye considered?" Alick began.

"Considered, my fit, did ye no hear me? Dinna stand hingin' there, balancin' on your soles like a show elephant lookin' aboot for cookies – gang, will ye!"

The little wife stamped her foot and made a threatening demonstration. Whereupon Muckle Alick betook himself over the way to Mistress Fraser's, and he never smiled till he got past the gate of the front garden, in which Mirren kept her old-fashioned flowers.

"I thocht that's what it wad come to," said Alick to himself, "when she saw the bairns. I wonder if she means to keep haud o' them a' thegither? She's been wearing her heart on the flooers a lang while, puir lassie. It wad be a farce if three bairns cam' hame at once to Sandyknowes after sae lang withoot ony, twa o' them walkin' cantily on their ain feet!"

Thus Alick mused, laughing a little to himself as he went over to borrow Mistress Fraser's cradle. He had an idea.

"There'll be some amusement at ony rate," he said, "but I maunna be ower keen. Na, and I maun haud back an' make difficulties. And then the wife will tak' the ither side and be juist daft to get her ain way and keep them."

Alick was well aware of the value of a certain amount of opposition, judiciously distributed.

He arrived before long at the cottage of Mistress Fraser. It was set like his own in the midst of a garden. But instead of being bosomed in flowers, with beeskeps scattered about, the garden was wholly taken up with potatoes, cabbage, and curly greens. It was a strictly utilitarian garden. As soon as Muckle Alick hove in sight, turning up off the main road, a covey of children broke from the door of the house and ran tumultuously towards him. They tripped one another up. They pulled each other back by the hair, or caught those in front by the heels or the coat-tails. It was a clean-limbed, coltish lass of thirteen who gained the race and sprang first into the arms of Muckle Alick. Then two smaller boys gripped each a mighty leg, while a whole horde of smaller banditti swarmed up Alick's rearward works and took his broad back by storm. When he got to the potato garden he looked more like the show elephant his wife had called him than ever. For he was fairly loaded with children "all along the rigging," as Mistress Fraser said.

She was a buxom, rosy-cheeked woman, gifted upon occasion with an astonishing plainness of speech.

"Guidnicht to ye, Alick," she said, "thae bairns maks as free wi' ye as if they were a' your ain?"

Alick disentangled the hands of one of the rearward harpies from his beard and mouth. Whereupon the offended rascal was not to be appeased. He slid down, caught the giant about the knee, and began to kick an outlying shin with all his might.

"Ye should ken best whether they are or no," said Alick, "there's plenty o' them at ony gait!"

"An' what wind has blawn ye awa' frae Sandyknowes this nicht? It takes naething less than an earthquake to shake ye awa' frae Mirren. Ye hae fair forgotten that there's ither folk in the warl."

"I was wanting the lend o' your cradle, guidwife," said Alick, with affected shamefacedness, well aware of the astonishment he would occasion by the simple request.

Mistress Fraser had been stooping over a basin in which she was mixing meal and other ingredients, to form the white puddings for which she was famous. She stood up suddenly erect, like a bow straightening itself. Then she looked sternly at Alick.

"Ye are a nice cunning wratch to be an elder – you and Mirren Terregles baith – and at your time o' life. An' hoo is she?"

"Ow, as weel as could hae been expectit," said Muckle Alick, with just the proper amount of hypocritical resignation demanded by custom on these occasions. Mistress Fraser, whose mind ran naturally on the lines along which Muckle Alick had directed it, was completely taken in.

"An' what has Mirren gotten? – a lassie, I'll wager," said the excited mother of eleven, dusting her hands of the crumblings of the pudding suet, and then beginning breathlessly to smooth her hair and take off her baking apron. So excited was she that she could not find the loop.

"Aye," said Alick, quietly, "there's a lassie!"

"I juist kenned it," said Mistress Fraser, drawing up wisdom from the mysterious wells of her experience; "muckle men and wee wives aye start aff wi' a lassie – contrarywise they begin wi' a laddie. Noo me and my man – "

What terrible revelation of domestic experience would inevitably have followed, remains unfortunately unknown. For the words which at that moment Muckle Alick delicately let drop, as the chemist drops a rare essence into two ounces of distilled water, brought Mistress Fraser to a dead stop in the fulness of her career after the most intimate domestic reminiscences.

"But there's a laddie come too!" said Muckle Alick, and looked becomingly at the ground.

Mistress Fraser held up her hands.

"Of a' the deceitfu', hidin', unneighbourly craiturs," said Mistress Fraser, "Mirren Terregles is the warst – an' me to hae drank my tea wi' her only last week. I'll wager if I live to hae fifty bairns – "

"The Lord forbid," said her husband, unexpectedly, from the doorway. "We hae plenty as it is – "

"And wha's faut's that?" cried his wife over her shoulder. "Oh the deceitfu' randy – "

"In fact," said Muckle Alick, dropping another word in, "there's twa laddies —and a lassie!"

Mistress Fraser sat down quite suddenly.

"Gie me a drink frae the water can, Tam!" she said; "haste ye fast, Alick's news has gi'en me a turn. Twa laddies and a lassie – I declare it's a Queen's bounty! Preserve me, it's no a cradle ye want, man, but a mill happer! A time or twa like this, and ye'll hae to plant taties in the front yaird – ye will hae to pay soundly for your ploy at this rate, my man. Three at a whup disna gang wi' cancy-lairies in the cabbage plots, my lad."

"It's a maist notoriously curious thing," began Tam Fraser, unexpectedly, "that I saw Mirren carryin' twa cans o' water this very mornin' – "

Muckle Alick gave him a warning look, which made him catch his next unspoken sentence as a wicket-keeper holds the ball before the field has seen it leave the bat.

"But – but she didna look weel – " added Tam.

"I wad think no, juist," cried Mistress Fraser, who in an inner room was busy putting a selection of small white things into a covered reticule basket. "An puir Mirren, she'll no be ready for the like. Wha could be prepared for a hale nation like this – I'll tak' her what I hae. O, the deceitfu' besom – I declare it wad tak' a little to gar me never speak to her again."

"Dinna do that!" said the hypocritical giant; "think on her condeetion – "

"Condeetion, condeetion, quo' he – I wonder ye are no black ashamed, Alick Douglas. And nane o' the twa o' ye ever to say a word to me, that's your nearest neebour – "

"I gie ye my word," said Muckle Alick, "I kenned nocht aboot it till an hour or twa afore the bairns cam' hame!"

Mistress Fraser turned fiercely upon him.

"Weel, for a' the leers in this pairish – and there are some rousers – ye beat them clean, Alick Douglas – and you an elder amang the Cameronian kirk! Hoo daur ye face your Maker, to say nocht o' the kirk folk as ye stand at the plate on Sabbaths, wi' siccan lees in your mouth?

"Come awa, man," she cried from the door in her haste, "I hae twa bagfu's o' things here. Tam, gang ower by to the Folds and up to Cowdenslack and borrow their twa cradles. They'll no be needing them for a month or twa – I ken that brawly – na, they are straight-forrit women, and never spring the like o' this on puir folk to set them a' in a flutter!"

"I think a single cradle wad do. It was a' that Mirren asked for," said Alick demurely; "but please yoursel', Mistress Fraser, it is you that kens."

"Yin," cried Mistress Fraser, "the man's gane gyte. Gin ye wull bring a family into the warld by squads o' regiments, ye maun e'en tak' the consequences. Lod, Lod, three cradles a' rockin' at the same time in yae hoose, it will be like a smiddy – or a watchmaker's shop! It'll be fine exerceese for ye, Alick, my man, when ye come hame at nichts – nae mair planting o' nasty-hurcheons and pollyanthies. But every foot on a cradle rocker, and the lassie's yin to pu' wi' a string. An' serve ya baith richt. O, the deceitfu' madam; wait till I get ower to the Sandyknowes!"

And Alick had to take his longest strides to keep pace with the anxious mother of eleven – to whom he had told no lie, though, as he afterwards said, he "had maybes keeped his thumb on some blauds o' the truth."

"It shows," said Alick, "what a differ there is atween the truth and the hale truth – specially when there's a reason annexed in the shape of a woman's imagination, that naturally rins on sic like things."

But as they neared Sandyknowes it is not to be doubted that Alick grew a little anxious. His position would not be exactly a pleasant one, if, for instance, Mirren should suddenly come out of their little byre with a full luggie of milk. And it was about milking time.