"Na, na," Robina replied, shaking her head emphatically, "there’s noan o’ the wee leddy’s flesh and blood’s Piskeys, I’se warrant. They’ll gang tae the kirk wi’ their auntie like ither Christian folk." "What’s a Piskey?" asked Montagu of the inquiring mind. "I’m no very sure," the girl said slowly. "It’s a new-fangled kin’ o’ kirk—is’t no?" she added, looking up at Sandie. Sandie grinned broadly and drew himself up. "I once went into one o’ they kirks in Edinbory—" he said with the air of one who has passed through many strange adventures, "on a Sabbath evening," he continued hastily, as Robina looked disapproving. "I gang no place else than oor ain kirk in the mornin’." "And what like was it?" asked Robina, somewhat reassured by this assertion of orthodoxy. "Dod’ an’ it’s more than I can say. Ye was aye hoppin’ up an’ sittin’ doon, wi’ a wee thing singin’ here an’ a wee bit prayin’ there, an’ a wee sma’ readin’. Ma certy! there was sae monny preeleeminaries ’at I never thocht we’d reach the sairmon. An’ when we did it was just as scampit as a’ the rest. An’ what wi’ human hymns an men i’ their sarks jumpin’ up here an’ there, it was mair like play-actin’ than a kirk. Nae mair Piskeys for me, I can tell ye!" "But what is a Piskey?" Montagu again demanded. "The auld gentleman wha’ lives wi’ us is a Piskey, so I’ve heard," Robina said in a low voice. "I can well believe that," Sandie remarked meaningly, and tapped his forehead. "Me go jive in caht!" Edmund exclaimed for about the thirtieth time, this time with an ominous warning of tears in his voice. Sandie looked up the road and down the road. There was not a soul in sight. "Wull I gie them a wee bit hurrl?" he asked Robina. "The wee stoot yen couldna’ sit wi’oot some person to hold him," Robina said irresolutely, "an’ I daurna’ let them oot o’ my sight. Mine’s is a poseetion o’ great responsibeelity." And once more she lifted the struggling Edmund back into his seat, from which he instantly wriggled so that he was hung up under the arms by the strap. "Pit the pram inside yon gate," suggested the ready Sandie, "and come tae. No harm’ll happen it, an’ I’ll gie ye a bit hurrl doon the rod." "Me go jive in caht!" Edmund shouted joyfully, and held out his arms to Sandie. Edmund looked upon mankind in general as a means specially provided for his quick transit from place to place. "Uppie! Uppie!" the baby cried impatiently. "Let the bairn have his hurrl," pleaded Sandie. Montagu as yet found it somewhat difficult to follow the Scots tongue, but he realised that Sandie was inviting them to go for a drive, and forthwith declared his own intention of accepting the invitation without Robina if she declined to avail herself of it.