maun hae left the poke as it gaed ower the Linn, and the poke maun hae floatit to the edge of the pule at the Linn fute, and Moussie maun hae been there to win oot the kittlins and lick them dry. Whateir the wey a it, we suld neir ken, but ae thing was certain, that Moussie was a gey clever cat.
And that nicht my grandfaither sat in his big chair at the kitchen fire wi Moussie on his knee, and I sat on the rug wi a saucer-fou ο cream and fed the wee kittlins. My grannie said she daurtna gang contrar to Providence.
THE DRINKIN-WATTER at Linmill had come at ae time frae a waal on the green fornent the front door. The auld stane troch was there yet, big eneuch for playin in, but the pump was lyin amang the rubbish in a corner ο the cairt-shed, and the hole it had come oot ο was filled up wi stanes. The waal had gane dry, it seems, juist efter I was born, and in my day the watter for the hoose was cairrit up frae the bottom orchard by Daft Sanny, twa pails at a time.
The waal in the bottom orchard was juist inside the Linmill hedge. There were twa trochs there, big, roun, airn anes sunk into the grun, and the ane faurer frae the spoot had a troot in it to keep the watter clean. Through the hedge tae, in Tam Baxter’s grun, there was anither troch, and it was fou ο mennans, for Tam was a great fisher and needit them for bait.
I gaed doun to the waal to play whiles, but didna bother muckle wi oor ain troot. It was aye Tam’s mennans I gaed for. I didna try to catch them, I was ower feart for that, but whan I had creepit through the hedge by the hole aside the honeysuckle I lay on my belly watchin them, wi my lugs weill cockit for the bark ο Tam’s dug.
I was fell fond ο catchin mennans, but seldom gat the chance. I wasna alloued doun to Clyde withoot my grandfaither, for I had to be liftit twa-three times on the wey ower the bank, and in the simmer he was aye gey thrang in the fields, gafferin the warkers.
Sae whan I wantit badly but couldna gang I juist gaed through the hedge and had a look in Tam’s troch. It helpit me to think ο the mennans in Clyde, for they aa had the same wey ο soumin, gowpin at the mou and gogglin their big dowie een.
For a lang while I had the notion that Tam fand his mennans for himsell, but ae day whan I was on my wey back to the hoose efter takin a finger-length ο thick black doun the field to my grandfaither I met a big laddie frae Kirkfieldbank wi a can in his haund.
‘Whaur are ye gaun wi the can?’
‘To the Falls.’
‘What’s in it?’
‘Mennans.’
‘Let me see.’
The can was fou.
‘What are ye takin them to the Falls for?’
‘To sell to Tam Baxter.’
‘Will Tam buy them?’
‘He buys them for the fishin.’
‘What daes he pey ye?’
‘A penny a dizzen.’
‘Hou mony hae ye?’
‘Twenty-fower.’
‘That’ll be tippence.’
‘Ay.’
I could haurdly believe it. I thocht ο aa the mennans I had catchit and gien to the cats. I could hae bocht the haill of Martha Baxter’s shop wi the siller I had lost.
Aa I could dae nou was mak a clean stert. The cats could want efter this.
At lowsin time that day I was waiting for my grandfaither at the Linmill road-end. It was airly in my simmer holiday, afore the strawberries were ripe, and he was warkin wi juist a wheen ο the weemen frae roun aboot, weedin the beds. I heard him blawin his birrell and kent he wadna be lang, for he was in the field neist to the waal yett, and that was juist ower the road.
The weemen cam through the yett first, some haudin their backs, for it was sair wark bendin aa day, and ithers rowin up their glaurie aprons. They skailed this wey and that, and syne came my grandfaither, wi the weeders in ae haund and his knee-pads in the tither. I cam oot frae the hedge and gaed forrit to meet him.
‘Whan will ye tak me to Clyde again, grandfaither?’
‘What’s gotten ye nou?’
‘I want doun to Clyde to catch mennans.’
‘Ay ay, nae dout, but it’s time for yer tea, and syne ye’ll hae to gang to yer bed.’
‘Ay, but can I no gang the morn?’
‘We’ll see what yer grannie says.’
‘But she aye says na.’
‘What’s putten it into yer heid to catch mennans?’
‘I like catchin mennans.’
‘Ay, ay, nae dout.’
‘Grandfaither?’
‘Ay?’
‘Tam Baxter peys a penny a dizzen for mennans.’
‘Wha telt ye that?’
‘A laddie frae Kirkfieldbank.’
‘Weill, weill.’
‘Daes he?’
‘I daursay.’
‘It wad be grand to hae some mennans to sell him.’
‘Ay weill, we’ll see. I’ll be weeding aside Clyde the morn.’
‘Will ye lift me doun ower the bank, then?’
‘Mebbe, I’ll ask yer grannie.’
He didna ask her at tea-time, and I was beginnin to think he had forgotten, but whan he cairrit me to my bed he gied me a wink ο his guid ee, the tither was blin, and I jaloused he hadna.
Shair eneuch, whan he had feenished his denner the neist day, and I had forgotten the mennans athegither, for the baker had come in the mornin and gien me a wee curran loaf, he gaed to the scullery and cam back wi ane ο the milk cans.
‘Hae ye a gless jaur ye could gie the bairn?’
My grannie soondit crabbit, but it was juist her wey.
‘Ye’ll fin ane in the bunker.’
He
