“I’ll hae to gang hame for a minute. I believe that fellow was my lost laddie—my Johnny come back!” Meanwhile Peter M^cBain had gone a street or two farther, and found the house—a much nicer one than the last he had called his home in Edinburgh. A shining brass-plate on the door bore his father’s name, and when he knocked, a little urchin, chubby and rosy, whom he had never seen before, opened the door and allowed him to step within. A grey-haired woman sat sewing by the window, and some older children were clustered around, but they all stared at the stranger in blank amazement, and in utter ignorance of his identity. Peter stepped forward and gazed into his mother’s face, with the tears creeping into his eyes. “Dae ye no ken me, mother?” he slowly and chokingly articulated. “I’m Johnny that ran awa’!” A scream of joy and a wild clasp of the arms was the answer, and then the floury-faced father broke in on them to join in their great rejoicing. Johnny became a sailor in one sense, for he is now engineer on board one of the American liners, but his heart always turns to Auld Reekie as warmly as when he stood thus before his mother, like one restored from the grave. THE CAPTAIN’S CHRONOMETER. The captain had come home with honours—that is, he had saved the ship and a very valuable cargo under his care by sheer bravery and indomitable energy, and been presented with the chronometer by the combined owners in token of their appreciation of his labours. That pleasing memento he carried in his pocket, enclosed in a little chamois leather cover to keep it from dust and wear. It was a ship chronometer, and therefore not meant for use on land or carrying in the pocket; but the captain was proud of his present, and especially of the flattering inscription engraved on the back of the case, and had carried it home to show to his wife and family and any friends he might meet during his short stay. His ship was at Tynemouth, but his home was in Leith Walk, and about a week of his furlough had gone when he one forenoon met an old friend, and with that gentleman entered a big and respectable public-house in Leith Walk to drink and have a chat over old times. The place was divided into boxes by wooden partitions about six feet high; so customers, though enjoying a certain degree of privacy, could never be certain that their words were not being listened to by others in the adjoining compartments. Captain Hosking and his friend were too much overjoyed at meeting to think of that, and chatted away in the loudest tones, while a nimble little thief named Tommy Tait, seated at the other side of the partition, swallowed every word. One of the topics was the recent storm and the dangers through which the captain had successfully struggled, and, as a natural result, the chronometer was brought out and displayed to every advantage. The heads of the two friends were close over the valuable present when that of Tommy Tait cautiously rose over the partition.