flattered our silly hearts. But the sober truth is that our deeds
were of the humblest, and a dozen of fish or a handful of
apples was all our booty, and our greatest exploit a fight with
the roughs at the Dyve tan-work.

My father's spring Communion fell on the last Sabbath of
April, and on the particular Sabbath of which I speak the
weather was mild and bright for the time of year. I had been
surfeited with the Thursday's and Saturday's services, and the
two long diets of worship on the Sabbath were hard for a lad
of twelve to bear with the spring in his bones and the sun
slanting through the gallery window. There still remained the
service on the Sabbath evening - a doleful prospect, for the
Rev. Mr Murdoch of Kilchristie, noted for the length of his
discourses, had exchanged pulpits with my father. So my mind
was ripe for the proposal of Archie Leslie, on our way home to
tea, that by a little skill we might give the kirk the slip. At our
Communion the pews were emptied of their regular occupants
and the congregation seated itself as it pleased. The manse seat
was full of the Kirkcaple relations of Mr Murdoch, who had
been invited there by my mother to hear him, and it was not
hard to obtain permission to sit with Archie and Tam Dyke in
the cock-loft in the gallery. Word was sent to Tam, and so it
happened that three abandoned lads duly passed the plate
and took their seats in the cock-loft. But when the bell had
done jowing, and we heard by the sounds of their feet that
the elders had gone in to the kirk, we slipped down the stairs
and out of the side door. We were through the churchyard in a
twinkling, and hot-foot on the road to the Dyve Burn.
It was the fashion of the genteel in Kirkcaple to put their