Kirsty could do what she pleased, for she was no tyrant.

She turned to us.
"Hush!" she said, hurriedly, with a twinkle in her eyes that showed the spirit of fun was predominant--"Hush!--Don't speak, wee Davie," she continued, as she rose and carried him from the kitchen into the passage between it and the outer door.

He was scarcely awake.
Now, in that passage, which was wide, and indeed more like a hall in proportion to the cottage, had stood on its end from time immemorial a huge barrel, which Kirsty, with some housewifely intent or other, had lately cleaned out.

Setting Davie down, she and Turkey lifted first me and popped me into it, and then Allister, for we caught the design at once.

Finally she took up wee Davie, and telling him to lie as still as a mouse, dropped him into our arms.