and sending back money to the "kiddies." Good Leerie, I wonder do you
still light the lamps on Heriot Row, or have you too seen redder
beacons on Flanders fields?

One evening I remember we fell into discussion whether the lamp-post was
still the same one that R.L.S. had known. We were down on hands and
knees on the pavement, examining the base of the pillar by match-light
in search of possible dates. A very seedy and disreputable looking man
passed, evidently regarding us with apprehension as detectives. Mifflin,
never at a loss, remarked loudly "No, I see no footprints here," and as
the ragged one passed hastily on with head twisted over his shoulder, we
followed him. At the corner of Howe Street he broke into an uneasy
shuffle, and Mifflin turned a great laugh into a Scotland Yard sneeze.

Howe Street crosses Heriot Row at right angles, only a few paces prom
No. 17. It dips sharply downhill toward the Water of Leith, and Mifflin
and I used to stand at the corner and wonder just where took place the
adventure with the lame boy which R.L.S. once described when setting
down some recollections of childhood.

In Howe street, round the corner from our house, I often saw a lame
boy of rather a rough and poor appearance. He had one leg much
shorter than the other, and wallowed in his walk, in consequence,
like a ship in a seaway. I had read more than enough, in tracts and
_goody_ story books, of the isolation of the infirm; and after many
days of bashfulness and hours of consideration, I finally accosted
him, sheepishly enough I daresay, in these words: "Would you like to
play with me?" I remember the expression, which sounds exactly like
a speech from one of the goody books that had nerved me to the
venture. But the answer was not one I had anticipated, for it was