"Is there no' a way to smuggle the bit dog into the kirkyard?"

It appeared that nothing was easier, "aince ye ken hoo." Did Mr.
Traill know of the internal highway through the old Cunzie Neuk
at the bottom of the Row? One went up the stairs on the front to
the low, timbered gallery, then through a passage as black as
"Bluidy" McKenzie's heart. At the end of that, one came to a
peep-hole of a window, set out on wooden brackets, that hung
right over the kirkyard wall. From that window Bobby could be
dropped on a certain noble vault, from which he could jump to the
ground.

"Twa meenits' wark, stout hearts, sleekit footstaps, an' the
fearsome deed is done," declared twelve-year-old Geordie, whose
sense of the dramatic matched his daring.

But when the deed was done, and the two stood innocently on the
brightly lighted approach to the bridge, Mr. Traill had his
misgivings. A well-respected business man and church-member, he
felt uneasy to be at the mercy of a laddie who might be boastful.

"Geordie, if you tell onybody about this I'll have to give you a
licking."

"I wullna tell," Geordie reassured him. "It's no' so respectable,
an' syne ma mither'd gie me anither lickin', an' they'd gie me
twa more awfu' aces, an' black marks for a month, at Heriot's."