"Seton's kirk?"
"Yes. Seton's kirk. I have a class there every Sunday afternoon at five o'clock—six boys just about your age. Will you come?"
"A hevna claes nor naething."
"Never mind; neither have the others. What's your name?"
"Bob Scott."
"Well, Bob, I do wish you'd promise. We have such good times."
Bob looked sceptical.
"A whiles gang to Sabbath schules," he said, "juist till the swuree comes aff, and then A leave." His tone suggested that in his opinion Sabbath schools and good times were things far apart.
"I see. Well, we're having a Christmas-tree quite soon. You might try the class till then. You'll come some Sunday? That's good. Now, if I were you I would go home out of the rain."
Bob had resumed his whittling, and he looked carefully at his work as he said: