A low whistle outside attracted my attention and I stole quietly away. It was Sonny Johnson, the baker's son, and he had a little bundle under his arm. We boys were discussing a very serious proposition when Anna appeared on the scene.
"Morra, Sonny!"
"Morra, Anna!"
"Aany day but Sunday he may go, dear, but not th' day."
That was all that was needed. Sonny wanted me to take him bird-nesting. He had the price in the bundle.
"If I give ye this now," he said, "will ye come some other day fur nothin'?"
"Aye."
In the bundle was a "bap"—a diamond-shaped, flat, penny piece of bread. I rejoined the cup-tossers.
Another whistle. "That's Arthur," Anna said. "No shinny th' day, mind ye."
I joined Arthur and we sat on the wall of Gainer's pigsty. We hadn't been there long when "Chisty" McDowell, the superintendent of the Methodist Sunday School, was seen over in Scott's garden rounding up his scholars. We were in his line of vision and he made for us. We saw him coming and hid in the inner sanctum of the sty. The pig was in the little outer yard. "Chisty" was a wiry little man of great zeal but little humor. It was his minor talent that came into play on this occasion, however.