Alec jumped down and held her up to the open pane, not a foot square. He told her to put her arms through first. Then between them they got her head through, whereupon Lizzie caught hold of her--so low was the school-room--and dragged her out, and set her on her feet. But alas, a window was broken in the process! "Noo, Annie," cried Alec, "never min' the window. Rin." She was off like a live bullet. She scampered home prepared to encounter all dangers. The worst of them all to her mind was the danger of not succeeding, and of so breaking faith with Alec. She had sixpence of her own in coppers in her box,--the only difficulty was to get into the house and out again without being seen. By employing the utmost care and circumspection, she got in by the back or house door unperceived, and so up to her room. In a moment more the six pennies were in her hand, and she in the street; for she did not use the same amount of precaution in getting out again, not minding discovery so much now, if she could only have a fair start. No one followed her, however. She bolted into a baker's shop. "A saxpenny-loaf," she panted out. "Wha wants it?" asked the baker's wife. "There's the bawbees," answered Annie, laying them on the counter. The baker's wife gave her the loaf, with the biscuit which, from time immemorial, had always graced a purchase to the amount of sixpence; and Annie sped back to the school like a runaway horse to his stable. As she approached, out popped the head of Alec Forbes. He had been listening for the sound of her feet. She held up the loaf as high as she could, and he stretched down as low as he could, and so their hands met on the loaf. "Thank ye, Annie," said Alec with earnestness. "I shanna forget this. Hoo got ye't?" "Never ye min' that. I didna steal't," answered Annie. "But I maun win in again," she added, suddenly awaking to that difficult necessity, and looking up at the window above her head. "I'm a predestined idiot!" said Alec, with an impious allusion to the Shorter Catechism, as he scratched his helpless head. "I never thocht o' that." It was clearly impossible. "Ye'll catch't," said one of the urchins to Annie, with his nose flattened against the window. The roses of Annie's face turned pale, but she answered stoutly, "Weel! I care as little as the lave o' ye, I'm thinkin'." By this time the "idiot" had made up his mind. He never could make up any other than a bull-headed mind. "Rin hame, Annie," he said; "and gin Murder offers to lay a finger o' ye upo' Monday, _I'll_ murder him. Faith! I'll kill him. Rin hame afore he comes and catches ye at the window." "No, no, Alec," pleaded Annie. "Haud yer tongue," interrupted Alec, "and rin, will ye?"