emplation of what he had done, brought her the slate.
There, under the fore-gone success, he had written the words
galatians and breath, and under them, galbreath. She read them all,
and at the last, which, witnessing to his success, she pronounced to
his satisfaction, he began another dance, which again he ended
abruptly, to draw her attention once more to the slate. He pointed
to the giby first, and the galbreath next, and she read them
together. This time he did not dance, but seemed waiting some
result. Upon Janet the idea was dawning that he meant himself, but
she was thrown out by the cognomen's correspondence with that of the
laird, which suggested that the boy had been merely attempting the
name of the great man of the district. With this in her mind, and
doubtfully feeling her way, she essayed the tentative of setting him
right in the Christian name, and said: "Thomas--Thomas Galbraith."
Gibbie shook his head as before, and again resumed his seat.
Presently he brought her the slate, with all the rest rubbed out,
and these words standing alone--sir giby galbreath. Janet read them
aloud, whereupon Gibbie began stabbing his forehead with the point
of his slate-pencil, and dancing once more in triumph: he had, he
hoped, for the first time in his life, conveyed a fact through
words.

"That's what they ca' ye, is't?" said Janet, looking motherly at
him: "--Sir Gibbie Galbraith?"

Gibbie nodded vehemently.

"It'll be some nickname the bairns hae gien him," said Janet to
herself, but continued to gaze at him, in questioning doubt of her
own solution. She could not recall having ever heard of a Sir in
the family; but ghosts of things forgotten kept rising formless and
thin in the sky of her memory: had she never heard of a Sir Somebody
Galbraith somewhere? And still she stared at the child, trying to
grasp what she could not even see. By this time Gibbie was standing
quite still, staring at her in return: he could not think what made
her stare so at him.

"Wha ca'd ye that?" said Janet at length, pointing to the slate.

Gibbie took the slate, dropped upon his seat, and after considerable
cogitation and effort, brought her the words, gibyse fapher. Janet
for a moment was puzzled, but when she thought of correcting the p
with a t, Gibbie entirely approved.

"What was yer father, cratur?" she asked.

Gibbie, after a longer pause, and more evident labour than hitherto,
brought her the enigmatical