"What a nuisance I am!" she said to herself as the door closed behind her. "Me and my old Zenana Mission. It's a wonder she didn't give me a push downstairs, poor worried body!" The next contributor had evidently gone out for the afternoon, and Elizabeth reflected ruefully that it meant another pilgrimage another day. The number of the next was given in the book as 171, but she paused uncertainly, remembering that there had been some mistake last year, and doubting if she had put it right. At 171 a boy was lounging, whittling a stick. "Is there anyone called Campbell in this close?" she asked him. "Wait yo here," said the boy, "an' I'll rin up and see." He returned in a minute. "Naw--nae Cam'l. There's a Robison an' a M'Intosh an' twa Irish-lukin' names. That's a'. Twa hooses emp'y." "Thank you very much. It was kind of you to go and look. D'you live near here?" "Ay." The boy jerked his head backwards to indicate the direction. "Thistle Street." "I see." Elizabeth was going to move on when a thought came to her. "D'you go to any Sunday school?" "Me? Naw!" He looked up with an impudent grin. "A'm what ye ca' a Jew." Elizabeth smiled down at the little snub-nosed face. "No, my son. Whatever you are, you're not that. Listen--d'you know the church just round the corner?" "Seton's kirk?" "Yes. Seton's kirk. I have a class there every Sunday afternoon at five o'clock--six boys just about your age. Will you come?" "A hevna claes nor naething." "Never mind; neither have the others. What's your name?" "Bob Scott." "Well, Bob, I do wish you'd promise. We have such good times." Bob looked sceptical. "A whiles gang to Sabbath schules," he said, "juist till the swuree comes aff, and then A leave." His tone suggested that in his opinion Sabbath schools and good times were things far apart. "I see. Well, we're having a Christmas-tree quite soon. You might try the class till then. You'll come some Sunday? That's good. Now, if I were you I would go home out of the rain." Bob had resumed his whittling, and he looked carefully at his work as he said: "I canna gang hame for ma faither: he's drunk, and he'll no' let's in." "Have you had any dinner?" "Uch, no. A'm no heedin' for't," with a fine carelessness. Elizabeth tilted her umbrella over her shoulder the better to survey the situation. There was certainly little prospect of refreshment in this grey street which seemed to contain nothing but rain, but the sharp ting-ting of an electric tram passing in the street above brought her an idea, and she caught the boy's arm. "Come on, Bob, and we'll see what we can get." Two minutes brought them to a baker's shop, with very good-looking things in the window and a fat, comfortable woman behind the counter. "Isn't this a horrible day, Mrs. Russel?" said Elizabeth. "And here's a friend of mine who wants warming up. What could you give him to eat, I wonder?"