Jist gie
him anither whan he wants it, Alec."
"What do ye mean, Curly?" asked Alec in amazement.
"Yon divot 'at ye flang aff o' Luckie Lapp's riggin'," said Curly,
"cam' richt o' the back o' my heid, as I lay o' the brae, and dang the
blude oot at my niz. That's a'.--Ye'll preten' ye didna see me, nae
doobt."
"I say, Curly," said Alec, putting his arm round his shoulders, and
leading him aside, "we maun hae nae mair o' this kin' o' wark. It's a
dam't shame! Do ye see nae differ atween chokin' an ill-faured tyke an'
chokin' a puir widow's lum?"
"'Twas only for fun."
"It's ill fun that baith sides canna lauch at, Curly."
"Rob Bruce wasna lauchin' whan he brocht the bick to the schuil, nor
yet whan he gaed hame again."
"That was nae fun, Curly. That was doonricht earnest."
"Weel, weel, Alec; say nae mair aboot it."
"No more I will. But gin I was you, Curly, I wad tak Lucky a seck o'
spales the morn."
"I'll tak them the nicht, Alec.--Father, hae ye an auld seck ony gait?"
"There's ane up i' the laft. What want ye wi' a seck?"
But Curly was in the loft almost before the question had left his
father's lips. He was down again in a moment, and on his knees filling
the sack with shavings and all the chips he could find.
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