popped up so quickly the lassie caught her breath.

"Eneugh broo for aince," said Tammy.

"Porridge that isna burned," suggested Ailie. Such pitiful
poverty of the imagination!

"Nae, it's bread, an' butter, an' strawberry jam, an' tea wi'
cream an' sugar, an' cauld chuckie at a snawy picnic," announced
Mr. Traill. And there it was, served very quickly and silently,
after some manner of magic. Bobby had to stand on the fourth
chair to eat his dinner, and when he had despatched it he sat up
and viewed the little party with the liveliest interest and
happiness.

"Tammy," Ailie said, when her shyness had worn off, "it's like
the grand tales ye mak' up i' yer heid."

"Preserve me! Does the wee mannie mak' up stories?"

"It's juist fulish things, aboot haein' mair to eat, an' a sonsie
doggie to play wi', an' twa gude legs to tak' me aboot. I think
'em oot at nicht when I canna sleep."

"Eh, laddie, do ye noo?" Mr. Traill suddenly had a terrible
"cauld in 'is heid," that made his eyes water. "Hoo auld are ye?"

"Five, gangin' on sax."

"Losh! I thoucht ye war fifty, gangin' on saxty." Laughter saved