things in cobbling she could do as well as Jamie. Her defense of
doing it in the early hours of the Sabbath was: "Sure God has more
important work to do than to sit up late to watch us mend the boots of
the poor; forby it's better to haave ye're boots mended an' go to church
than to sit in th' ashes on Sunday an' swallow the smoke of bad turf!"

"Aye," Jamie would say, "it's jist wondtherful what we can do if we
haave th' right kind ov a conscience!"

Jamie's first duty on Sunday was to clean out the thrush's cage. He was
very proud of Dicky and gave him a bath every morning and a house
cleaning on Sunday. We children loved Sunday. On that day Anna reigned.
She wore her little shawl over her shoulders and her hair was enclosed
in a newly tallied white cap. She smoked little, but on Sundays after
dinner she always had her "dhraw" with Jamie. Anna's Sunday chore was to
whitewash the hearthstones and clean the house. When the table was laid
for Sunday breakfast and the kettle hung on the chain singing and Anna
was in her glory of white linen, the children were supremely happy. In
their wildest dreams there was nothing quite as beautiful as that.
Whatever hunger, disappointment, or petty quarrel happened during the
week it was forgotten on Sunday. It was a day of supreme peace.

Sunday breakfast was what she called a "puttiby," something light to
tide them over until dinner time. Dinner was the big meal of the week.
At every meal I sat beside my mother. If we had stir-about, I was
favored, but not enough to arouse jealousy: I scraped the pot. If it was
"tay," I got a few bits of the crust of Anna's bread. We called it
"scroof."

About ten o'clock the preparations for the big dinner began. We had meat
once a week. At least it was the plan to have it so often. Of course
there were times when the plan didn't work, but when it did Sunday was
meat day. The word "meat" was never used. It was "kitchen" or "beef."
Both words meant the same thing, and bacon might be meant by either of
them.

In nine cases out of ten, Sunday "kitchen" was a cow's head, a "calf's
head and pluck," a pair of cow's feet, a few sheep's "trotters" or a
quart of sheep's blood. Sometimes it was the entrails of a pig. Only
when there was no money for "kitchen" did we have blood. It was at first
fried and then made part of the broth.

The broth-pot on Sunday was the center. The economic status of a family
could be as easily gaged by tasting their broth a