Silently they walked together. Ian was very near telling his little friend about his dreams.
But while he was weighing the probable outcome of such a move, the school bell rang. It was half past nine, the time that school in Scotland starts in the springtime. Ian and Elsie ran.
At one o'clock, Ian went home to his lunch. Elsie stayed, for her home was far away. She brought her "piece," which is what the Scotch children call their lunch. No doubt the word refers to their piece of bread, which, with an apple, is sometimes all they get.
At home, Ian's mother always had waiting for him a plate of Scotch broth, potatoes, and sometimes an apple tart. After school Ian was drawn to the bridge.
The work at home was not pressing to-day. Father was away with the sheep. Mother did not need Ian. His heart was light as he started off for the old brig. He walked along with the hope of adventure, while in his ears the imaginary sound of pipes played.
"Ian, wait," called Elsie, and ran after him.
Ian stopped and remembered that he had almost told her. How could a wee lass like that understand? No. He would not speak. What was more, he would not let her come along, for he knew that was what she wanted to do.
"Are you going fishing from the brig?" asked Elsie blithely.
"Ay," answered Ian sulkily, as he stepped ahead of her.