"Did ye, noo? An' hoo did ye ken aboot picnics, laddie?"

"Maister Traill was tellin' Ailie an' me. There's ilka thing to
mak' a picnic i' the kirkyaird. They couldna mak' my legs gude i'
the infairmary, but I'm gangin' to Heriot's. I'll juist hae to
airn ma leevin' wi' ma heid, an' no' remember aboot ma legs, ava.
Is he no' a bonny doggie?"

"Ay, he's bonny. An' ye're a braw laddie no' to fash yersel'
aboot what canna be helped."

The wifie took his ragged jacket and mended it, dropped a tear in
an impossible hole, and a ha'penny in the one good pocket. And by
and by the pale laddie slept there among the bright graves, in
the sun. After another false alarm from the gate she asked her
gude-mon, as she had asked many times before:

"What'll ye do, Jamie, when the meenister kens aboot Bobby, an'
ca's ye up afore kirk sessions for brakin' the rule?"

"We wullna cross the brig till we come to the burn, woman," he
invariably answered, with assumed unconcern. Well he knew that
the bridge might be down and the stream in flood when he came to
it. But Mr. Traill was a member of Greyfriars auld kirk, too, and
a companion in guilt, and Mr. Brown relied not a little on the
landlord's fertile mind and daring tongue. And he relied on
useful, well-behaving Bobby to plead his own cause.

"There's nae denyin' the doggie is takin' in 'is ways. He's had
twa gude hames fair thrown at 'is heid, but the sperity bit keeps