the child.

"Troth, a fine father!" rejoined the mother, with a small scornful
laugh. "Na, but he's something to mak mention o'! Sic a father,
lassie, as it wad be tellin' him he had nane! What said ye till
'im?"

"I bit thankit 'im, 'cause I tint my drop as I gaed to the schuil i'
the mornin', an' he fan't till me, an' was at the chopdoor waitin'
to gie me't back. They say he's aye fin'in' things."

"He's a guid-hertit cratur!" said the mother, -- "for ane, that is,
'at's been sae ill broucht up."

She rose, took from the shelf a large piece of bread, composed of
many adhering penny-loaves, detached one, and went to the door.

"Here, Gibbie!" she cried as she opened it; "here's a fine piece to
ye."

But no Gibbie was there. Up and down the street not a child was to
be seen. A sandboy with a donkey cart was the sole human
arrangement in it. The baker's wife drew back, shut the door and
resumed her knitting.




CHAPTER II.