"Aye, aye! He's the boy! Father Fleming's the boy!"

Next to the old widow, Bildy loved the cow. She was his particular
charge, and he was soon on intimate terms with her. Not only did he
carry on familiar conversations with her, on his part, but it appeared
that the cow made him her confidant in return. If he began to murmur
something to himself as he sat by the chimney corner, they would
inquire what he was talking about. It was generally arrant nonsense
that he told them. Once Robina asked:

"Wha tellit ye that rubbish, Bildy?"

"The coo," he gravely answered.

On a damp, misty morning he had gone out as usual to drive the cow out
to the meadow to graze. Widow Lamont, from her place opposite the
window, noticed that they did not pass out in the customary way, and
notified the fact to Robina. The latter accordingly ran out at once to
inquire the reason of the delay. She found Bildy quietly fastening the
door of the byre before returning to the house.

"Ye havna' fetched oot the coo!" she exclaimed. "Gae in an' drive her
oot, Bildy!"

"Na, na," replied he, solemnly shaking his head. "She says it's ower
cauld the day. She'll bide inside."

Bildy's hero-worship of my brother increased as time went by. He
regularly came to Mass, and obedient to Robina's instructions sat still
and looked "straicht at Father Fleming." On one particular Sunday,