"Caught me, sir!" replied the boy, with fearless innocence; "did—did you want to catch me, sir?"
"Want to catch you, you young rascal! Come, give an account of yourself. What are you? A burglar's boy, eh?"
Jack looked a little puzzled. He put his hand up as if to feel that his cap was on. It was only a little old glengarry, with a hole where the top used to be, and through which a lock of the lad's hair always straggled.
"No, sir, I'm nothing yet. Was you looking for somebody to be a burglar's boy, sir? I would be it if it was nice. I want to work for mother and Siss, you know. But what do burglars do, sir? Mind, I'm not afraid of work, and I might get shoes and stockings then."
As he spoke, he held up one red and swollen foot. Not that he was courting sympathy. Oh no; only standing in the snow had made his feet cold.
"O you poor wee ragamuffin, are you really so destitute as all that, and on Christmas eve too? Come now, tell me your name and what you were after, and if it is all right I'll give you a penny and let you go."
"My name is Jack Mackenzie, sir; but mebbe, sir, you would know me better as little Johnnie Greybreeks, because that's what the boys all call me."
The big man laughed.
"Me know you! Well, that's good. But what were you doing?"
"Oh," cried the lad ecstatically, "I was looking in there at the fairies. O sir, isn't it grand and beautiful? If you stand here you can have a see too. They won't notice us."