If he reproved her, she replied meekly, “What can you expect frae a woman that doesna wear gloves?”

To the baby she said:  “He despises you, my bonny, because you hae no gloves.  Ay, that’s what maks him turn up his nose at you.  But your mother is fond o’ you, gloves or no gloves.”

She told the baby the story of the glove daily, with many monstrous additions.

When Corp came home from his work, she said that a poor, love-lorn female had called with a boot for him, and a request that he should carry it in the pocket of his Sabbath breeks.

Worst of all, she listened to what he said in the night.  Corp had a habit of talking in his sleep.  He was usually taking tickets at such times, and it had been her custom to stop him violently; but now she changed her tactics:  she encouraged him.  “I would be lying in my bed,” he said to Tommy, “dreaming that a man had fallen into the Slugs, and instead o’ trying to save him I cried out, ’Tickets there, all tickets ready,’ and first he hands me a glove and neist he hands me a boot and havers o’ that kind sich as onybody dreams.  But in the middle o’ my dream it comes ower me that I had better waken up to see what Gavinia’s doing, and I open my een, and there she is, sitting up, hearkening avidly to my every word, and putting sly questions to me about the glove.”

“What glove?” Tommy asked coldly.

“The glove in silk paper.”

“I never heard of it,” said Tommy.

Corp sighed.  “No,” he said loyally, “neither did I”; and he went back to the station and sat gloomily in a wagon.  He got no help from Tommy, not even when rumours of the incident at the Slugs became noised abroad.

“A’body kens about the laddie now,” he said.

“What laddie?” Tommy inquired.

“Him that fell into the Slugs.”

“Ah, yes,” Tommy said; “I have just been reading about it in the paper.  A plucky fellow, this Captain Ure who saved him.  I wonder who he is.”

“I wonder!” Corp said with a groan.

“There was an Alexander Bett with him, according to the papers,” Tommy went on.  “Do you know any Bett?”

“It’s no a Thrums name,” Corp replied thankfully.  “I just made it up.”

“What do you mean?” Tommy asked blankly.

Corp sighed, and went back again to the wagon.  He was particularly truculent that evening when the six-o’clock train came in.  “Tickets, there; look slippy wi’ your tickets.”  His head bobbed up at the window of another compartment.  “Tick——­” he began, and then he ducked.

The compartment contained a boy looking as scared as if he had just had his face washed, and an old woman who was clutching a large linen bag as if expecting some scoundrel to appear through the floor and grip it.  With her other hand she held on to the boy, and being unused to travel, they were both sitting very self-conscious, humble, and defiant, like persons in church who have forgotten to bring their Bible.  The general effect, however, was lost on Corp, for whom it was enough that in one of them he recognized the boy of the Slugs.  He thought he had seen the old lady before, also, but he could not give her a name.  It was quite a relief to him to notice that she was not wearing gloves.