"Whaur's Annie Anderson?" he cried, as he burst into Robert Bruce's shop.
"What's your business?" asked the Bruce—a question which evidently looked for no answer.
"Alec wants her."
"Weel, he will want her," retorted Robert, shutting his jaws with a snap, and grinning a smileless grin from ear to ear, like the steel clasp of a purse. By such petty behaviour he had long ago put himself on an equality with the young rascals generally, and he was no match for them on their own level.
Curly left the shop at once, and went round by the close into the garden, where he found Annie loitering up and down with the baby in her arms, and looking very weary. This was in fact the first time she had had to carry the baby, and it fatigued her dreadfully. Till now Mrs Bruce had had the assistance of a ragged child, whose father owed them money for groceries: he could not pay it, and they had taken his daughter instead. Long ago, however, she had slaved it out, and had at length gone back to school. The sun was hot, the baby was heavy, and Annie felt all arms and back—they were aching so with the unaccustomed drudgery. She was all but crying when Curly darted to the gate, his face glowing with his run, and his eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Come, Annie," cried he; "we're gaein' to lainch the boat."
"I canna, Curly; I hae the bairn to min'."
"Tak the bairn in til 'ts mither."
"I daurna."
"Lay't doon o' the table, an' rin."