, ye rascal. Haud the tongue o' ye,
and eat this tawtie, gin ye want onything mair. And here's a bit o'
reamy cakes tu ye. Ye winna get that in ilka hoose i' the toon. It's my
grannie's especial.'

Robert felt relieved after this, for he had eaten all the cakes Miss
Napier had given him, and had had a pain in his conscience ever since.

'Hoo got ye a haud o' 't?' asked Shargar, evidently supposing he had
stolen it.

'She gies me a bit noo and than.'

'And ye didna eat it yersel'? Eh, Bob!'

Shargar was somewhat overpowered at this fresh proof of Robert's
friendship. But Robert was still more ashamed of what he had not done.

He took the blue coat carefully from the bed, and hung it in its place
again, satisfied now, from the way his grannie had spoken, or, rather,
declined to speak, about it, that it had belonged to his father.

'Am I to rise?' asked Shargar, not understanding the action.

'Na, na, lie still. Ye'll be warm eneuch wantin' thae sovereigns. I'll
lat ye oot i' the mornin' afore grannie's up. And ye maun mak' the best
o't efter that till it's dark again. We'll sattle a' aboot it at the
schuil the morn. Only we maun be circumspec', ye ken.'

'Ye cudna lay yer han's upo' a drap o' whusky, cud ye, Bob?'

Robert stared in horror. A boy like that asking for whisky! and in his
grandmother's house, too!

'Shargar,' he said solemnly, 'there's no a drap o' whusky i' this hoose.
It's awfu' to hear ye mention sic a thing. My grannie wad smell the
verra name o' 't a mile awa'. I doobt that's her fit upo' the stair
a'ready.'

Robert crept to the door, and Shargar sat staring with horror, his eyes
looking from the gloom of the bed like those of a half-strangled dog.
But it was a false alarm, as Robert presently returned to announce.

'Gin ever ye sae muckle as mention whusky again, no to say drink ae drap
o' 't, you and me pairt company, and that I tell you, Shargar,' said he,
emphatically.

'I'll never luik at it; I'll never mint at dreamin' o' 't,' answered
Shargar, coweringly. 'Gin she pits 't intil my moo', I'll spit it oot.
But gin ye strive wi' me, Bob, I'll cut my throat--I will; an' that'll
be seen and heard tell o'.'

All this time, save during the alarm of Mrs. Falconer's approach,
when he sat with a mouthful of hot potato, unable to move his jaws for
terror, and the remnant arrested half-way in its progress from his mouth
after the bite--all this time Shargar had been devouring the provisions