It was a tumultuous little group that burst in upon the astonished landlord:  barking fluff of an excited dog, flying lassie in clattering big shoes, and wee, tapping Tammy.  They literally fell upon him when he was engaged in counting out his money.

“Whaur did you find him?” asked Mr. Traill in bewilderment.

Six-year-old Ailie slipped a shy finger into her mouth, and looked to the very much more mature five-year old crippled laddie to answer

“He was i’ the kirkyaird.”

“Sittin’ upon a stane by ’is ainsel’,” added Ailie.

“An’ no’ hidin’, ava.  It was juist like he was leevin’ there.”

“An’ syne, when I drapped oot o’ the window he louped at me so bonny, an’ I couldna keep up wi’ ’im to the gate.”

Wonder of wonders!  It was plain that Bobby had made his way back from the hill farm and, from his appearance and manner, as well as from this account, it was equally clear that some happy change in his fortunes had taken place.  He sat up on his haunches listening with interest and lolling his tongue!  And that was a thing the bereft little dog had not done since his master died.  In the first pause in the talk he rose and begged for his dinner.

“Noo, what am I to pay?  It took ane, twa, three o’ ye to fetch ane sma’ dog.  A saxpence for the laddie, a saxpence for the lassie, an’ a bit meal for Bobby.”

While he was putting the plate down under the settle Mr. Traill heard an amazed whisper “He’s gien the doggie a chuckie bane.”  The landlord switched the plate from under Bobby’s protesting little muzzle and turned to catch the hungry look on the faces of the children.  Chicken, indeed, for a little dog, before these ill-fed bairns!  Mr. Traill had a brilliant thought.

“Preserve me!  I didna think to eat ma ain dinner.  I hae so muckle to eat I canna eat it by ma lane.”

The idea of having too much to eat was so preposterously funny that Tammy doubled up with laughter and nearly tumbled over his crutches.  Mr. Traill set him upright again.

“Did ye ever gang on a picnic, bairnies?” And what was a picnic?  Tammy ventured the opinion that it might be some kind of a cart for lame laddies to ride in.

“A picnic is when ye gang gypsying in the summer,” Mr. Traill explained.  “Ye walk to a bonny green brae, an’ sit doon under a hawthorntree a’ covered wi’ posies, by a babblin’ burn, an’ ye eat oot o’ yer ain hands.  An’ syne ye hear a throstle or a redbreast sing an’ a saucy blackbird whustle.”

“Could ye tak’ a dog?” asked Tammy.

“Ye could that, mannie.  It’s no’ a picnic wi’oot a sonsie doggie to rin on the brae wi’ ye.”

“Oh!” Ailie’s blue eyes slowly widened in her pallid little face.  “But ye couldna hae a picnic i’ the snawy weather.”