"Oh yes, sir--well that! I shall soon have him reading to me while I'm
busy about. If he doesn't know the word, he can spell it, and then I
shall know it--at least if it's not longer than Hawkie's tail."

Hawkie was a fine milker, with a bad temper, and a comically short
tail. It had got chopped off by some accident when she was a calf.

"There's something else short about Hawkie--isn't there, Kirsty?" said
my father.

"And Mrs. Mitchell," I suggested, thinking to help Kirsty to my
father's meaning.

"Come, come, young gentleman! We don't want your remarks," said my
father pleasantly.

"Why, papa, you told me so yourself, just before we came up."

"Yes, I did; but I did not mean you to repeat it. What if Kirsty were
to go and tell Mrs. Mitchell?"

Kirsty made no attempt at protestation. She knew well enough that my
father knew there was no danger. She only laughed, and I, seeing
Kirsty satisfied, was satisfied also, and joined in the laugh.

The result was that before many weeks were over, Allister and wee
Davie were Kirsty's pupils also, Allister learning to read, and wee
Davie to sit still, which was the hardest task within his capacity.
They were free to come or keep away, but not to go: if they did come,