He knew that Mysie, the baker's daughter, was at school, and that she would be home within half an hour.

He had seen her with tear-filled eyes as she went, had learned from her the cause, and had in consequence unwittingly roused Mrs.Croale's anger, and braved it when aroused.

But though he was waiting for her, such was the absorbing power of the spectacle before him that he never heard her approaching footsteps.
"Lat me in," said Mysie, with conscious dignity and a touch of indignation at being impeded on the very threshold of her father's shop.
The boy started and turned, but instead of moving out of the way, began searching in some mysterious receptacle hid in the recesses of his rags.

A look of anxiety once appeared, but the same moment it vanished, and he held out in his hand the little drop of amethystine splendour.

Mysie's face changed, and she clutched it eagerly.
"That's rale guid o' ye, wee Gibbie!" she cried.