bathing in the golfers' pool, and were dressing to run down to school in
good time. Little Nestie--I mean Ernest Molyneux, sir--had stayed in a
little longer, and someone cried, 'Nestie's drowning!' and there the
little chap was, being carried away by the current."

"Is 'Nestie'--drowned?" and they all noticed the break in Bulldog's
voice, and remembered that if he showed indulgence to anyone it was to
the little English lad that had appeared in Muirtown life as one out of
due place.

"No, sir, Nestie's safe, and some women have taken him home; but he was
very nearly gone," and Dunc was plainly shaken. "He's a good ween man,
and--and it would have been terrible to see him die before our eyes."

"Who saved Nestie?" Bulldog's face was white, and Jock swore afterwards
the tears were in his eyes--but that we did not believe.

"It was one of the boys, sir"--Robertson's voice was very proud--"and it
was a gallant deed; but I can't give his name, because he made me
promise not to tell."

The master looked round the school, and there was a flush on his cheek.

"John Howieson," with a voice that knew no refusal, and Jock stood in
his place.

"Give me the laddie's name who savit Nestie."

"It was Speug, sir, an'--it wes michty; but a' wudna hae telt had ye no
askit, an'--it's no my blame," and Jock cast a deprecatory glance where
Peter was striving to hide himself behind a slate.

"Peter McGuffie, come out this moment," and Peter, who had obeyed this
order in other circumstances with an immovable countenance, now
presented the face of one who had broken a till.

"Tell the story, Duncan Robertson, every word of it, that each laddie in
this room may remember it as lang as he lives."

"We had nearly all dressed, and some of us had started for school ...
and when I got back McGuffie had jumped and was out in the current
waiting for Nestie to come up. We saw his face at last, white on the
water, and shouted to Peter, and ... he had him in a minute, and ...
made for shore; big swimming, sir; not one of us could have done it
except himself. A salmon-fisher showed us how to rub Nestie till he came
round, and ... he smiled to us, and said, 'I'm all right; sorry to
trouble you chaps.' Then we ran down as hard as we could lick, and ...
that's all, sir."

"Ye're a leear, Duncan Robertson," suddenly broke out Speug, goaded
beyond endurance; "ye helpit oot Nestie yirself, an' ye're ... as muckle
tae blame as me."

"All I did,