gray-stone, red-roofed mill laughed, and anxious children ran
down from a knot of storybook cottages and gay dooryards. "I'll
gie ye ten shullin's for the sperity bit dog," the miller
shouted, above the clatter of the' wheel and the swish of the
dam.

"He isna oor ain dog," Geordie called back. "But he wullna droon.
He's got a gude heid to 'im, an' wullna be sic a bittie fule
anither time."

Indeed he had a good head on him! Bobby never needed a second
lesson. At Silver Mills and Canon Mills he came out and trotted
warily around the dam. Where the gorge widened to a valley toward
the sea they all climbed up to Leith Walk, that ran to the
harbor, and came out to a wonder-world of water-craft anchored in
the Firth. Each boy picked out his ship to go adventuring.

"I'm gangin' to Norway!"

Geordie was scornful. "Hoots, ye tame pussies. Ye're fleid o'
gettin' yer feet wat. I'll be rinnin' aff to be a pirate. Come
awa' doon."

They followed the leader along shore and boarded an abandoned
and evil-smelling fishingboat. There they ran up a ragged jacket
for a black flag. But sailing a stranded craft palled presently.

"Nae, I'm gangin' to be a Crusoe. Preserve me! If there's no' a
futprint i' the sand Bobby's ma sma' man Friday."