Then he prepared to take his place at the table, with a gesture of rubbing his stomach in thinking of what was to be put inside.
"What a bonny smell, Mother!" he continued. "And surely the taste is even bonnier!"
"'Tis the glib tongue you have, Ian Craig," laughed his father. "You could write poetry to the smell of a good dinner! And now, what have you to tell us to-night?"
Now, Ian was always full of stories and tales of adventure. He was one of those children to whom something exciting is always happening.
ALAN CRAIG, IAN, AND ROY
So the family were quite accustomed to having him return home with vivid tales. Some were strange, some droll and, alas, some sad and painful, told to the tune of bandages and arnica.
Still, what boy is not sometimes hurt? And Ian's accidents were few, in comparison to his other experiences. Surely, it is to be wondered how, in a small, quiet town like Aberfoyle, so many wondrous happenings could occur.