enior's long ones.

After they had interviewed the goat, and had watched the wrecks with
which the wild shore was strewn, and had inspected the Castle in ruins,
and the ruins of the Cathedral, The Boy would be shown his grandmother's
new-made grave, and his own name in full--a common name in the
family--upon the family tomb in the old kirk-yard; all of which must
have been very cheering to The Boy; although he could not read it for
himself. And then, which was better, they would stand, hand in hand, for
a long time in front of a certain candy-shop window, in which was
displayed a little regiment of lead soldiers, marching in double file
towards an imposing and impregnable tin fortress on the heights of
barley-sugar. Of this spectacle they never tired; and they used to
discuss how The Boy would arrange them if they belonged to him; with a
sneaking hope on The Boy's part that, some day, they were to be his very
own.

[Illustration: THE BOY'S SCOTCH GRANDFATHER]

At the urgent request of the grandfather, the American contingent
remained in St. Andrews until the end of the year; and The Boy still
remembers vividly, and he will never forget, the dismal failure of
"Auld Lang Syne" as it was sung by the family, with clasped hands, as
the clock struck and the New Year began. He sat up for the occasion--or,
rather, was waked up for the occasion; and of all that family group he
has been, for a decade or more, the only survivor. The mother of the
house was but lately dead; the eldest son, and his son, were going, the
next day, to the other side of the world; and every voice broke before
the familiar verse came to an end.

As The Boy went off to his bed he was told that his grandfather had
something for him, and he stood at his knee to receive--a Bible! That it
was to be the lead soldiers and the tin citadel he never for a moment
doubted; and the surprise and disappointment were very great. He seems
to have had presence of mind enough to conceal his feelings, and to kiss
and thank the dear old man for his gift. But as he climbed slowly up the
stairs, in front of his mother, and with his Bible under his arm, she
overheard him sob to himself, and murmur, in his great disgust: "Well,
he has given me a book! And I wonder how in thunder he thinks I am going
to read his damned Scotch!"

This display of precocious profanity and of innate patriotism, upon the
part of a child who could not read at all, gave unqualified pleasure to
t