noo', my wee son. Daddy's no' weel the nicht," she excused, "an' didna'
ken what he was doin'." Then breaking into a louder tone: "I wonder what
in Heaven's name puir folk are born for at a'. There noo'. There noo'.
Dinna greet, my wee man, an' mither'll gi'e ye yer denner."

Sinclair could stand it no longer, so slipping on his boots and
reaching for his cap, he went out, never in all his life feeling more
ashamed of himself.

Left to themselves--for all the other children were still out at
play--Nellie soon had Robert quietened and sitting at his dinner of cold
potatoes and buttermilk. Bit by bit she drew from him the story of the
fight at school; divining for herself the reason for Robert's attack
upon Peter Rundell, she soon was in possession of the whole story with
its termination of revolt against the headmaster and even the confession
of what he had written on the table.

"An' what did ye do wi' the tawse, son?" she enquired, her dark eyes
showing pride in the revolt of her laddie. She was proud to know that he
had sufficient character to stand up to a bully, even though he were a
headmaster.

"I buried them in the muir," he replied simply, "but I dinna' want to
tell naebody where they are. I'll never gi'e them back."

"Oh, weel, if ye dinna' want to tell me, dinna' do it," she said. "I'll
gang with ye to the school the morn, an' I'll see that ye're no' meddled
wi'. But, Robin, while I like to see ye staunin' up against what is
wrong, I dinna want ye to dae wrang yerself. An' I think ye was in the
wrang to strike Peter. He staggered against ye, an' I dinna think he wad