dairy in the State, Sandy."

"That is just my idea, Davie."

Thus they talked until the winter evening began to close in upon them,
and then Davie recollected that his boy, Sandy, would be more than
uneasy about him.

"I'll not ask you there to-night, brother; I want them all to myself
to-night. 'Deed, I've been selfish enough to keep this good news from
them so long."

So, with a hand-shake that said what no words could say, the brothers
parted, and Davie made haste to catch the next up-town car. He thought
they never had traveled so slowly; he was half inclined several times to
get out and run home.

When he arrived there the little kitchen was dark, but there was a fire
in the stove and wee Davie--his namesake--was sitting, half crying,
before it.

The child lifted his little sorrowful face to his grandfather's, and
tried to smile as he made room for him in the warmest place.

"What's the matter, Davie?"

"I have had a bad day, grandfather. I did not sell my papers, and Jack
Dacey gave me a beating besides; and--and I really do think my toes are
frozen off."