Here the Goodwife was making porridge for the supper in a pot over the fire, and her husband was sitting in a corner plaiting ropes of straw with which to tie up the cow.
"Oh, Jock! come here, come here," cried the Goodwife. "Thou art aye crying for a little bannock for thy supper; come here, histie, quick, and help me to catch it."
"Ay, ay," assented Jock, jumping to his feet and hurrying across the little room. "But where is it? I cannot see it."
"There, man, there," cried his wife, "under that chair. Run thou to that side; I will keep to this."
So Jock ran into the dark corner behind the chair; but, in his hurry, he tripped and fell, and the wee bannock jumped over him and flew laughing out at the door.
Through the whins and up the hillside it ran, and over the top of the hill, to a shepherd's cottage on the other side.
The inmates were just sitting down to their porridge, and the Goodwife was scraping the pan.
"Save us and help us," she exclaimed, stopping with the spoon half-way to her mouth. "There's a wee bannock come in to warm itself at our fireside."
"Sneck the door," cried the husband, "and we'll try to catch it. It would come in handy after the porridge."