Oh! Christina!

Front matter

"Mind yer nut, auntie!" she added; "I'm gaun to drap this yin."

A large empty cardboard box fell at the spinster's feet.

"Christina, I cannot allow you to address me in that disrespectful fashion!" Miss Purvis cried indignantly. "Mind my nut, indeed! What do you mean by it?"

I. The Incorrigible

OH! CHRISTINA!

I

THE INCORRIGIBLE

FROM behind the counter, with its little piles of periodicals and trays of picture postcards, Miss Purvis gave her twelve-year-old niece a frown of disapproval.

"Have you delivered the extra papers at the manse, Christina?" She spoke as severely as her peculiarly soft voice would allow her.

"Uh-ha!" said Christina, with an almost choked utterance.

"Why didn't you tidy yourself before you went to the manse?"

"I forgot."

Miss Purvis sighed. "I hope Mrs. Beaton didn't see you in such a state?" she said.

"Ay, she seen me," mumbled the girl, smiling.

"Oh, dear me!" Miss Purvis made a gesture of despair. "And I'm sure I've told you a hundred times not to say seen when you mean saw. Try to remember that in future, Christina."

"Uh-ha!"

"Don't say uh-ha! What have you got in your mouth?"

"Jujubes."

"Jujubes! More than one jujube?"

"Uh-ha!"

"Wh—where did you get jujubes?"

"Frae Mistress Beaton."

"And you put them all in your mouth at once?" Miss Purvis asked in a tone of disgust.

"I jist got five frae her.... Ye canna taste yin jujube proper. Is the tea no' ready yet?" Christina's speech gained in freedom and clarity as the jujubes dissolved.

"There will be no tea," said Miss Purvis firmly, "for a girl with dirty hands and untidy hair."

"A' richt, auntie. I'll tosh masel' up in twa shakes," said Christina cheerfully, and passed through the glazed and curtained door at the back of the shop.

Miss Purvis groaned as she adjusted the wick of the lamp burning above the counter. Christina was certainly a heavy trial to the gentle—and very genteel—middle-aged spinster. Orphaned and quite unprovided for, Christina had been brought from Glasgow six months ago, and ever since then her benefactress had been endeavouring to improve her manners in general, and her grammar and mode of speech in particular. Too frequently she had been driven to despair by the girl's lack of response to her efforts. Miss Purvis, though compelled by circumstances to earn a modest living in a west coast village, belonged to Edinburgh, a fact which she never forgot. "Manners first and money afterwards" might have been her motto.

Miss Purvis was still under forty, of medium height, very slender and rather prim. But for her primness she might have been deemed attractive. Most of the villagers were inclined to regard her as "stuck-up"—the last thing she had any intention of being, desiring only to be lady-like, which was a natural enough desire, seeing that she was a lady at heart.

She drew her chair near to the counter, and bent over the latest number of The Hearth-rug Novelist, which every week, for the sum of one penny, gives its readers a work of fiction, "equal in every respect to the average novel sold at six shillings"; a page of "Housekeeping Hints"; two pages of advice to worried lovers; a paper pattern of a baby's garment, and a chance of winning almost anything from a 20 h.p. motor-car to a xylonite thimble.

She resumed her reading at the point where Christina's entrance had interrupted her—the point at which the bold, black-bearded, Bulgarian baron was assuring the lovely young English heiress, whom he had abducted and lodged in his ancient castle, that he would soon tame her haughty spirit.

But somehow the baron was much less terrifying, the heiress much less pathetic, than Miss Purvis had found them ten minutes earlier. Miss Purvis was depressed; she was, moreover, suffering from a slight headache.

Passing her hand over her brow, from which the brown hair was drawn tightly back, she reflected, as she had done every other day for many years, that she did not take sufficient exercise. Her reflection was probably not unreasonable, considering that she rarely went out of doors except to church on Sundays. For a long time she had been intending to follow the instructions given in a ladies' magazine, wherein a young woman was depicted in many unusual attitudes, each of which was stated to be helpful to some part of the human frame and to the system generally. But as yet Miss Purvis had been unable to bring herself to lie, kicking, on the floor, or to stand on one foot, swinging the other, for five minutes. She had a horror of looking ridiculous, even in private, and the only exercise which she felt she could carry out with dignity was one specially prescribed for a person possessing a double chin, which Miss Purvis had not.

"Want of exercise and, perhaps, want of excitement," she sighed to herself, or rather to the Bulgarian baron, whose dissipated but noble countenance stared at her from the page before her.

During the last three years Miss Purvis had experienced but two incidents which might be truly called exciting. Once her kitchen chimney had gone on fire; once she had fallen from the fourth step of the shop ladder along with a package containing a dozen doll's tea-sets. So far Christina's company had meant a good deal of anxiety and some irritation, but it had produced no episodes which could be described as stirring in the mildest meaning of the word.

"Yes," thought the spinster, absently dabbing at the baron with the rusty pen she had picked up, "I do believe it's excitement, even more than exercise, that I require."

"Here, auntie!" called Christina from the door of the back room.

Miss Purvis started. "What is wrong?" she called in reply, half-rising.

"Naethin'. Am I to wash ma face?"

"Certainly."

"It's no' dirty."

"The face should always be washed before meals," said Miss Purvis primly. Once upon a time she had dreamed of being a schoolmistress.

"I think it needs washin' mair efter meals," remarked Christina, combing her abundant fair hair in the doorway.

"Wash your face at once!" cried Miss Purvis, trying to speak sternly.

"Hooch, ay!" Christina replied lightly, and disappeared.

"Christina!"

The girl returned to the doorway. "What's up?" she asked pleasantly.

"What did you say when I told you to wash your face at once?" her aunt demanded.

"Hooch, ay!"

"Well, don't let me hear you using these words again, Christina."

"They're in a comic song, auntie."

"Well, you must not repeat them. They aren't nice words for a girl to use. I forbid you to repeat them."

"What wey?"

"Because I forbid you."

"A' richt. Keep yer hair on, auntie." The girl turned away, laughing.

"Christina!"

"Hullo?"

"What—what do you mean by such impudence?" cried Miss Purvis, now really indignant.

"I didna mean for to be impiddent. I jist meant2"

"Where do you learn such expressions?"

"At the schule. I jist meant2"

"Go and wash your face at once!"

Miss Purvis, with a hopeless sigh, bent once more over her novelette.

"A' richt," said her niece, as cheerfully as ever, and banged the door behind her. It did not catch, however, and presently Miss Purvis heard the sound of running water, to which soon was added a shrill whistling.

"Christina!"

"Hullo?"

"Stop that whistling!"

"Hooch, ay!—I mean, a' richt!"

A couple of minutes went past.

"Christina!"

"Hullo?"

"Have you finished washing?"

"Uh-ha!"

"Turn off the water, and don't say uh-ha!"

"Hooch—a' richt!"

The sound of water ceased, and for a little while silence reigned in the back room.

Then Christina began to sing.

Miss Purvis put a finger in each ear and sought to concentrate her thoughts on the conversation of the swarthy baron and his fair prisoner. It was past the usual hour for tea, and Miss Purvis was wearying for a cup, but she had not the energy required for its preparation.

"Wretch!" she read, "you have decoyed me here under false pretences. But your triumph shall be short-lived. Last night my secret message would be in the hands of the British ambassador, and already I hear the sound of2"

At this point it was necessary to turn the page, and Miss Purvis unplugged one of her ears. Whereupon she clearly heard—

"Stop yer ticklin', ticklin', ticklin', Stop yer ticklin', Jock!"

"Christina!"

"Hullo?"

"Don't sing that dreadful song!"

"A' richt."

But the girl was not long silent. Stunned with horror, the aunt listened to the following—

Fause Maggie Jordan! She's made ma life a burden! I'm no' fit to leeve, an' I'm gey sweirt Sweirt=unwilling. to dee. She's left me a' forlorrun! I wish I'd ne'er been borrun, Since fause Maggie Jordan's gaed an' jiltit me!— Tarara!—"

"Oh, Christina, Christina!" cried Miss Purvis, finding speech at last; "where did you learn such songs?"

"In Glesca, auntie. A laddie learnt them to me. I ken a lot mair."

"Oh, but you mustn't sing them! You must try to forget them."

"Hoo that?"

"Because—because I say so. Don't you understand that it's wrong for a girl to know such songs?" Miss Purvis nearly went on to remark on her niece's up-bringing, but she managed to stop her tongue in time. Thus far she had never uttered a single reflection on the girl's parents and the Glasgow aunt, who had afterwards made but a doubtful guardian, but often she had been shocked by the indications of their neglect.

"Promise me, Christina," she said solemnly, "never to sing such songs again."

"Hooch, ay! I promise."

Miss Purvis let the forbidden expression of assent pass as a customer came into the shop.

"Fine nicht," said the customer. "I was wantin' a leed pincil."

"Yes," she returned, producing a box.

"What's the price o' thur yins?"

"Ha'pennies each."

"Aw!" The customer, an elderly man, picked out a pencil and examined it minutely under the lamp. "Ye can get three o' thur for a penny in the toon," he observed after much deliberation.

"Can you?" said Miss Purvis, a little wearily. "I'm afraid I couldn't afford to give more than two. They are good pencils."

The man submitted the pencil to another long and searching examination. Then he laid it down and turned to the door.

"Aweel, I'll think ower it," he said. "Guid nicht."

A young woman came in and purchased a "Park Lane Cabinet of Choice Stationery," price threepence, after inspecting every variety of notepaper in the shop.

"Is these the only kinds ye've got?" she remarked again and again.

"I'll see if there's nothing else," returned the spinster, and ascended and descended the shop ladder till she was slightly giddy.

When the young woman had departed, Miss Purvis sat down, placed her elbows on the counter and her head in her hands. If she could only rouse herself to make the tea!

"Hey, auntie!"

Christina was standing in the doorway, her face shining, her hair in order, her eyes dancing.

Miss Purvis sat up. She tried to smile her approval, but it was a very wan smile.

Then, suddenly, there was wafted towards her a whiff of that delicious odour which comes from bread just toasted, or being toasted.

"Christina!" she exclaimed, getting up.

"I hear ye."

"You don't mean to say you've been so clever as to make the tea."

"Uh-ha!"

"Oh, I never was so glad in my life!" cried the spinster. "It was real good of you, dear."

"Hooch, ay!" said Christina, highly pleased with herself.

II. The Geography Lesson

II

THE GEOGRAPHY LESSON

{[fqm|"]}WHAT for are ye greetin', auntie? Is it an awfu' sad story ye're at?"

Miss Purvis looked up from the novelette, and wiped her eyes hurriedly and in a somewhat shamefaced manner.

"I—I fear I've got a cold in my head, Christina," she said apologetically, unable to meet her niece's keen gaze. "A cold in my head always makes my eyes water, you know," she went on. "But don't trouble about me, Christina. Get on with your lessons, like a good girl."

"A cauld in the heid should mak' ye sneeze. Yer nose is a wee thing rid, but that's wi' greetin', auntie. I've been watchin' the tears comin' oot yer e'en an' playin' pap on the paper. What's the story aboot?"

"I have already told you to get on with your lessons, Christina," said Miss Purvis, with sundry sniffs.

"Hooch, ay! But are ye no' gaun to tell us what ye was greetin' aboot?"

"Certainly not. You are much too young to understand anything about the tragedies of life, my dear." Miss Purvis's voice became soft.

"Och, I've read dizzens o' thae wee stories," said Christina. "An' I've been gey near greetin' masel' whiles. Are ye jist at the second last chapter, auntie? Ay, that'll be whaur ye are."

"How do you know that?" Miss Purvis regarded with surprise her niece, who was seated too far away to have read the small type of the novelette.

"I jist guessed. The second last chapter's aye a bit sad," said Christina. "But it a' comes oot in the wash in the last chapter," she added cheerfully. "It's a peety ye canna keep mind o' that at the sad bits. Eh, auntie?"

Miss Purvis smiled slightly. "I'm afraid the stories would not be so interesting if we always remembered that," she said.

Christina did not speak for fully a minute. Her expression was thoughtful.

"Auntie!"

"Yes, dear?"

"I suppose ye like the love-stories the best?"

"Oh, well2" Miss Purvis hesitated. "Most of the stories I read now are what one might call love-stories. But I used to read other books a great deal—Carlyle, and Ruskin, and2"

"Was they murder stories?"

"Dear me, no! What an idea! They weren't stories at all. They were—well, some day you must read them, too, or perhaps I shall read them to you. They are very inspiring."

"Are they? I think I like love-stories the best, tae," said Christina. "My! it's fine when ye come to a rale lovey-dovey bit whaur the young man proposes2"

"Really, Christina! I cannot allow you to talk of such things2"

"But it's awfu' when the young leddy says she canna except him, because she's got to mairry anither man for his gold! There some unco bad folk in the stories whiles—oh, terrible bad folk, an' that crool! D'ye never feel ye wud like to knock the faces aff the bad yins, auntie?"

"I think I had better hear you repeat some of your lessons now," said Miss Purvis. "What about your history and geography?"

"Aw, there's nae hurry for them. D'ye no' feel ye wud like to knock2"

"That was a dreadful thing to say. Do not repeat it, Christina."

"But d'ye no' get angry at the bad yins, auntie?"

"Of course," Miss Purvis replied, rather firmly, "I am bound to feel indignant with those characters who are responsible for the sufferings of the good people in the story. But we should not allow the desire for cruel vengeance to animate our2"

"Och, I believe ye wud knock the stuffin' oot the bad yins, if ye got the chance, auntie!"

"Hush, Christina! You must not use such language. Try to remember that it is unmaidenly, and that it hurts me."

"I'll try," said Christina agreeably. "I say, auntie, did ye ever see onybody proposin'?"

"No, indeed! Give me your geography."

Christina unwillingly handed over the slim volume, and a short silence ensued, during which the aunt found the place.

"Now, Christina, where is Liverpool situated, and for what is it noted?"

"We had that last week," said Christina. "Ye're at the wrang page. My! I wud like fine to see a proposal. Me an' Jessie Ann M'Kirdy followed Miss Carvey an' a young gentleman for three mile on Sunday efternune, awa' through the woods, thinkin' he was gaun to propose, but2"

"Christina!" Miss Purvis exclaimed in a horrified voice. "What a shocking thing to do!"

"But he didna propose."

"I mean that it was shocking of you to spy upon people. You must never do it again."

"But I bet Jessie Ann a farden's worth o' slim-jim he wud propose next Sunday. We've been keepin' an e'e on them for a while back. He's been comin' wi' the efternune boat every Seturday since the New Year, an' last Seturday he was that gled to see her that he fell ower a herrin'-boax on the pier an' smashed his guid bumberstick. An' then he tried to let on he was used to daein' that every day, an' then he gi'ed the pierman a glove instead o' a penny, an' then2"

"That will do, Christina," said Miss Purvis severely. "I am shocked and grieved at your want of delicacy. But I may tell you that the young gentleman has been betrothed to Miss Carvey since Christmas."

"D'ye mean engaged?"

"I do."

"Weel, that's an' awfu' drap," said Christina sadly. "I suppose Jessie Ann'll ha'e to get the slim-jim."

"Are you in the habit of laying wagers with Jessie Ann M'Kirdy?" The voice of Miss Purvis was then nearer to being "awful" than it had ever been, to Christina's ears, at least.

"Layin' what?" the girl stammered.

"You spoke just now of a bet2"

"Oh, that's what ye mean." Christina hesitated.

"Answer me truthfully, Christina. Are you in the habit of betting with Jessie Ann?"

"Whiles," replied Christina, at last, with an effort. "But"—her face cleared a little—"I never lost till this time, auntie."

Miss Purvis shook her head in a helpless fashion.

"Child," she said solemnly, "don't you understand that it's wrong to bet, whether you win or lose?"

"I'll no' dae't again, auntie," said Christina in a whisper.

"You promise?"

"Uh-ha."

"And you will never seek to spy on people?"

"I—I'll no' dae't again. But, auntie—it—it wudna be wrang to see a proposal by—by accident—eh? Supposin' I couldna help seein'2"

"You would shut your eyes, if you could not turn your back. Now, wouldn't you, my dear?"

Christina's better nature won—with a struggle. "Uh-ha," she muttered.

Whereupon Miss Purvis came over and kissed her, and promised her a whole pennyworth of slim-jim to divide with her fellow-sinner.

"Maybe," said Christina reflectively, "I wudna like a real proposal as well as yin in a book. D'ye think it wud be as nice, auntie?"

"I'm sure I could not say, dear," her aunt replied, as she reseated herself and opened the geography book. "But now you must put all those ideas out of your head, Christina, and keep them out for years to come. When you want a story to read come to me for it. Don't just read anything you happen to find on the counter. You will have plenty of time for all that later. And now—where is Bristol?"

"On the map. I markit it wi' ma pincil. If ye turn back a page2"

"But whereabouts in England is it?"

"Aw, ask me anither!" said Christina.

It was not the geography lesson that kept Christina lying awake that night half-an-hour longer than usual. Mr. Baldwin had called that day, and she had seen him during the dinner hour.

"He's an awfu' nice man," she thought in the silence and darkness, "an' I think he's saft on auntie. I wonder if she's saft on him. Oh, I wonder! But she wudna talk about love when I tried to get her to talk about it. My! It's peculiar!"

III. A Zealous Apprentice

III

A ZEALOUS APPRENTICE

ON Friday nights Christina went to bed with her hair in a score of tight, thin pigtails, and on Saturday mornings she paid especial attention to her toilet generally; for on Saturdays Miss Purvis allowed her to stand behind the counter, and even to serve those customers who desired such simple wares as newspapers and pins. Miss Purvis hoped that her niece might thus learn something of the stationery and fancy-goods trade, while Christina, a few months after her first appearance in the shop, was privately of the opinion that she could have run the business a great deal better than her aunt.

Christina chafed in secret at not being permitted to attend to any customer, irrespective of his or her requirements. She felt that there were many occasions when Miss Purvis failed to effect a sale through sheer lack of repartee—though, of course, that word was not in Christina's vocabulary. But the word "gab" was, and the girl's inward remark was frequently to this effect—

"If she gi'ed them mair gab they wud buy mair."

But Miss Purvis was too genteel and dignified to chaff or persuade customers.

"I endeavour to stock the best of everything, and I can do no more," she said on one occasion, when a lady had refused to pay fourpence for a hair-net because she had seen them advertised somewhere or other at seven for a shilling.

"But ye should ha'e tell't her the chape yins was rotten rubbidge," said Christina.

"Were," Miss Purvis gently replied. "And the word rotten is not a nice one. Old wood might sometimes be correctly described as rotten2"

"An' whiles aiples an' plooms an' ither frit," Christina put in. "I yinst got a2"

"Hush!" Miss Purvis shuddered.

"Weel, ye should ha'e tell't the leddy the chape yins was2"

"The lady should have known that for herself."

"If I was you, auntie, I wud keep naethin' but chape rubbidge—an' sell it dear when I got the chance. Ay, wud I!"

"That will do, Christina. You know quite well that honesty is the best policy."

Christina smiled. "I suppose ye mean that cheatery 'll choke ye," she said.

"That will do, Christina."

"I dinna believe it. I've seen plenty cheatery, but I never seen it choke onybody," pursued Christina. "I never seen onybody chokit but a baby, an' it was a bit ham that done it, an' the baby was ower wee—it wasna a year auld—for to cheat onybody."

Miss Purvis could not refrain from pointing out that tender infants did not get ham.

"They dae in Glesca. I've seen babies gettin' wulks; ay, an'2"

Christina could not understand why at this point her aunt suddenly embraced her, and in a husky voice called her "a poor neglected child."

On a certain chilly Saturday forenoon in January aunt and niece were at their posts behind the counter. Miss Purvis sat beside the till, crocheting. Christina was adding to the lustre of the stock of hatpins; she breathed loudly on each massive "gem," and then polished it with a handful of tissue paper. She liked handling the hatpins better than anything in the shop. Their richness appealed to her. Once Miss Purvis had come in from Sunday evening service to behold her niece, who had a cold, strutting before the small mirror with every pin in the shop thrust through her plain straw hat.

But Christina's thoughts on this forenoon were not confined to the glittering vanities. She had done a good stroke of business earlier in the day, and she still brooded upon it with exquisite satisfaction. It was a secret which she would not have shared, even with her aunt.

Just as the morning boat was taking the pier a gentleman—a stranger to Christina—had rushed into the shop, thrown down a penny, and gasped for a morning paper. The morning papers had been sold out, but Christina, with a bright smile, handed him a copy of the previous day's issue. Through the window she had watched him staggering down the pier with a heavy bag, and had felt proud and happy ever since.

"That's the wey to keep a shope," she told herself. "Mavbe he didna get readin' yesterday's paper," she added, and felt quite virtuous.

There had been a long lull in the forenoon's business—not an unusual happening—but at last there were signs that a customer was at hand. The door-handle, which was rather loose, rattled warningly and a face was pressed against the semi-opaque glass. Then the door opened a couple of inches and remained in that position. A sound of whispering reached the ears of Miss Purvis and Christina, both of whom were now standing at attention.

At the end of a minute the door closed, and a coin was heard to drop on the doorstep. The ring of metal was followed by a shuffling of feet. Then a silence, during which two faces were pressed against the glass.

Once more the door was opened, this time sufficiently wide to admit a little boy, of four years of age, whose fat countenance was exceeding solemn. The little boy was followed by his sister, a little girl, of seven or so, whose expression was no less serious. Very gravely they advanced towards the counter. Christina knew them quite well, but pretended she had never seen them before.

The little girl, fixing a cold eye on Miss Purvis and jerking her head sideways in the direction of the little boy, said—

"He's wantin' to buy something."

"And what does he want to buy, my dear?" Miss Purvis asked pleasantly.

"He doesna ken," said the little girl.

"Ay, I ken!" said the little boy in a voice hoarse with excitement or indignation—perhaps both.

"Weel, what dae ye want to buy?"

"A penny thing."

Miss Purvis turned to the little boy. "Is it a toy you wish to buy?" she inquired kindly.

The little boy gaped, and his sister replied—

"He wudna tell me, but I suppose it's a toy. It's a toy ye're wantin', Jimsie?"

Jimsie shook his head violently.

"Come on, noo, Jimsie, tell us what ye're wantin' to buy," his sister said persuasively. "Come on, tell us!"

"A scooter," said the boy in a low voice.

"But ye canna get a scooter. Maw said ye wasna to get a scooter, an' ye promised ye wudna ask for yin."

"But I want yin."

The little girl turned from him impatiently. "Ha'e ye ony scooters?" she demanded, with a warning wink at Miss Purvis.

Miss Purvis looked blank.

"She means things for sookin' in watter an' scootin' it oot again," put in Christina; adding, "we dinna keep them."

"No; I don't keep them, my dear," said Miss Purvis.

"There, ye see, Jimsie! " the little girl cried triumphantly. "She doesna keep scooters, so ye canna get yin."

Whereupon Jimsie sobbed freely till the penny slipped from his clutch, and he forgot his grief in searching for it.

"Christina," said Miss Purvis, "bring forward some toys. Perhaps James will see something he fancies."

"I canna see onything," complained Jimsie, whose nose was touching the edge of the counter.

Promptly his sister seized him in her arms, and bundled him upon a chair standing against the counter, on which Christina had just laid a small tin boat on wheels and a monkey on a stick.

"Bring a lot of toys," whispered Miss Purvis.

"If I bring a lot, he'll no' ken what to choose," muttered her niece.

"Do as I tell you, Christina!"

"Hooch, ay!" said Christina resignedly, and brought a dozen different articles.

Jimsie began to play with the monkey on the stick. Christina watched the monkey going up and down till she could bear it no longer.

"Are ye gaun to buy it, Jimsie?" she asked sharply.

"Hush, Christina!" said her aunt.

"It's nane o' your business, Teeny," said the little girl, putting out her tongue.

Christina ignored her. "If ye spile the works, ye'll ha'e to buy it!" she said to the little boy.

"Hush, Christina!"

The little boy laid down the monkey, and Christina snatched it from the counter.

"He'll maybe buy it yet," said Jimsie's sisster. "He aye tak's a whiley to mak' up his mind. See, Jimsie! Here an' awfu' nice wee boat2"

"It winna sail," the boy objected.

"But it'll hurl. Wud ye no' like a watch an' chain? Eh? Weel, here a wee motor-caur. Is that no' nate, Jimsie? I'm shair ye wud like it fine. Ye wud like the trumpet? Blaw it, Jimsie. It's fine an' lood."

Jimsie blew it till he was breathless.

"If he blaws it again, he'll ha'e to buy it," said Christina in a loud whisper.

"Hush, Christina!"

After further consideration, Jimsie decided against the trumpet. Christina removed it from the counter and scrutinized it to see if he had bitten the mouth-piece.

"Weel, Jimsie," the little girl inquired, "if ye're no' for the trumpet, what are ye for?"

"I dinna ken," replied Jimsie, as he picked up a toy in each hand.

"I tell't ye, auntie! " Christina muttered. "He canna chose his pick wi' sae mony things."

"Hush, Christina!"

"Oh, hush-a-baw-baby!" said Christina crossly.

At the end of twenty minutes the little boy slid from his chair, and, drawing down his sister's shoulder, whispered earnestly in her ear.

"Ye should ha'e said that afore," said his sister, without, however, any displeasure. In fact, she smiled a little smile of satisfaction.

She turned to Miss Purvis and calmly said—

"He wants to buy sweeties wi' his penny."

Then, taking hands, the twain moved to the door.

A moment later Christina had whipped round the counter, and was at the door ere they could close it. The children fled.

"Christina, where are you going?"

Without answering, Christina ran out.

In a few minutes she reappeared, smiling cheerfully, and gently pushing the children before her.

"He's gaun to buy the monkey," she announced to her aunt. At the same time she took the monkey from the far-end of the counter, where she had left it, and handed it to Jimsie, receiving his penny in exchange.

She then guided the silent children, who had rather a dazed look, to the door, and saw them safely outside.

"Christina," said Miss Purvis, on recovering from her amazement, "what did you say to those children?"

"Never heed," returned Christina, spinning the warm penny on the counter.

"You must tell me."

"Oh, weel, I jist tell't them I wud gi'e them the nick2"

"The what?"

"The polis—ye ken awfu' little, auntie."

"The police!" Miss Purvis exclaimed, ignoring the depreciatory remark. "What for?"