"Some for me, please," it said; "there are so many of us at our house, and so little to get. Our roots are such a long way off, and the big fellows farther down get most of the juice before it comes our way. If you cannot water us all, you might pour a little on our heads." So Jaikie lifted up his tankard and poured the few drops that were in the bottom upon the nodding heads of the honeysuckle blooms. "Bide a little while," said he, "and you shall have plenty for root and flower, for branch and vine-stem." There were not many more loving little boys than Jaikie in all the world; and with all his work and his helping and talking, he had quite forgotten about the pain in his foot. Now, if I were telling a story--making it up, that is--it is just the time for something to happen,--for a great trumpet to blow to tell the world what a brave fellow this friend of the flowers was; or at least for some great person, perhaps the minister himself, to come and find him there alone in the night. Then he might be carried home with great rejoicing. But nothing of the kind happened. In fact, nothing happened at all. Jaikie began to creep back again in the quiet, colourless night; but before he had quite gone away the honeysuckle said-- "Remember to come back to-morrow and water us, and we will get ready such fine full cups of honey for you to suck." And Jaikie promised. He shut the gate to keep out the hens. He crept across the pebbles, and they hurt more than ever. He hung up the tin dipper again on its peg, and climbed the stairs to his bedroom. Jiminy was breathing as quietly and equally as a lazy red-spotted trout in the shadow of the bank in the afternoon. Jaikie crept into his bed and fell asleep without a prayer or a thought. He did not awake till quite late in the day, when Jiminy came to tell him that somebody had been watering the flowers in their Corner of Shadows during the night. "_I_ think it must have been the angels," said Jiminy, before Jaikie had time to tell him how it all happened. "My father he thinks so too." The latter statement was, of course, wholly unauthorised. Jaikie sat up and put his foot to the floor. All the pain had gone away out of it. He told Jiminy, who had an explanation for everything. _He_ knew how the foot had got better and how the flowers were watered. "'Course it must have been the angels, little baby angels that can't fly yet--only crawl. I did hear them scuffling about the floor last night." And this, of course, explained everything. BOOK FIFTH TALES OF THE KIRK I THE MINISTER-EMERITUS _Ho, let the viol's pleasing swifter grow-- Let Music's madness fascinate the will, And all Youth's pulses with the ardour thrill! Hast thou, Old Time, e'er seen so brave a show?_ _Did not the dotard smile as he said "No"? Pshaw! hang the grey-beard--let him prate his fill; Men are but dolts who talk of Good and Ill. These grapes of ours are wondrous sour, I trow!_