to the open wooden pane in an upper corner of one the windows; "but I hae eaten ower muckle sin syne."
And he laughed again; but it was again an unsuccessful laugh.
Annie sprang to her feet.
"Gin ye could win throu that hole ance, I can win throu't noo, Alec.
Jist haud me up a bit. Ye can lift me, ye ken."
And she looked up at him shyly and gratefully.
"But what will ye do when ye are oot, Annie?"
"Rin hame, and fess a loaf wi' me direckly."
"But Rob Bruce'll see yer heid atween yer feet afore he'll gie ye a loaf, or a mou'fu' o' cakes either; an' it's ower far to rin to my mither's. Murdoch wad be back lang or that."
"Jist help me oot, an' lea' the lave to me," said Annie, confidently. "Gin I dinna fess a loaf o' white breid, never lippen (trust) to me again."
The idea of the bread, always a rarity and consequent delicacy to Scotch country boys, so early in the century as the date of my story, was too much for Alec's imagination. He jumped up, and put his head out of one of those open panes to reconnoitre. He saw a woman approaching whom he knew.
"I say, Lizzie," he called.
The woman stopped.
"What's yer wull, Maister Alec?"
"Jist stan' there an' pu' this lassie oot. We're a' keepit in thegither, and nearhan' hungert."
"The Lord preserve 's! I'll gang for the key."
"Na, na; we wad hae to pay for that. Tak her oot—that's a' we want."
"He's a coorse crayter—that maister o' yours. I wad gang to see him hangt."
"Bide a wee; that'll come in guid time," said Alec, pseudo-prophetically.
"Weel I s' hae a pu' at the legs o' him, to help him to jeedgement; for he'll be the deith o' ane or twa o' ye afore lang."
"Never min' Murder Malison. Will ye tak oot the bit lassie?"
"Od will I! Whaur is she?"
Alec jumped down and held her up to the open pane, not a foot square. He told her to put her arms through first. Then between them they got her head through, whereupon Lizzie caught hold of her—so low was the school-room—and dragged her out, and set her on her feet. But alas, a window was broken in the process!
"Noo, Annie," cried Alec, "never min' the window. Rin."
She was off like a live bullet.
She scampered home prepared to encounter all dangers. The worst of them all to her mind was the danger of not succeeding, and of so breaking faith with Alec. She had sixpence of her own in coppers in her box—the only difficulty was to get into the house and out again without being seen. By employing the utmost care and circumspection, she got in by the back or house door unperceived, and so up to her room. In a moment more the six pennies were in her hand, and she in the street; for she did not use the same amount of precaution in getting out again, not minding discovery so much now, if she could only have a fair start. No one followed her, however. She bolted into a baker's shop.
"A saxpenny-loaf," she panted out.
"Wha wants it?" asked the baker's wife.
"There's the bawbees," answered Annie, laying them on the counter.
The baker's wife gave her the loaf, with the biscuit which, from time immemorial, had always graced a purchase to the amount of sixpence; and Annie sped back to the school like a runaway horse to his stable.
As she approached, out popped the head of Alec Forbes. He had been listening for the sound of her feet. She held up the loaf as high as she could, and he stretched down as low as he could, and so their hands met on the loaf.
"Thank ye, Annie," said Alec with earnestness. "I shanna forget this.
Hoo got ye't?"
"Never ye min' that. I didna steal't," answered Annie. "But I maun win in again," she added, suddenly awaking to that difficult necessity, and looking up at the window above her head.
"I'm a predestined idiot!" said Alec, with an impious allusion to the Shorter Catechism, as he scratched his helpless head. "I never thocht o' that."
It was clearly impossible.
"Ye'll catch't," said one of the urchins to Annie, with his nose flattened against the window.
The roses of Annie's face turned pale, but she answered stoutly,
"Weel! I care as little as the lave o' ye, I'm thinkin'."
By this time the "idiot" had made up his mind. He never could make up any other than a bull-headed mind.
"Rin hame, Annie," he said; "and gin Murder offers to lay a finger o' ye upo' Monday, I'll murder him. Faith! I'll kill him. Rin hame afore he comes and catches ye at the window."
"No, no, Alec," pleaded Annie.
"Haud yer tongue," interrupted Alec, "and rin, will ye?"
Seeing he was quite determined, Annie, though loath to leave him, and in terror of what was implied in the threats he uttered against the master and might be involved in the execution of them, obeyed him and walked leisurely home, avoiding the quarters in which there was a chance of meeting her gaoler.
She found that no one had observed her former visit; the only remarks made being some goody ones about the disgrace of being kept in.
When Mr. Malison returned to the school about four o'clock, he found all quiet as death. The boys appeared totally absorbed in committing the Shorter Catechism, as if the Shorter Catechism was a sin, which perhaps it was not. But, to his surprise, which he pretended to be considerably greater than it really was, the girl was absent.
"Where is Ann Anderson?" were the first words he condescended to utter.
"Gane hame," cried two of the little prisoners.
"Gone home!" echoed the master in a tone of savage incredulity; although not only was it plain that she was gone, but he must have known well enough, from former experience, how her escape had been effected.
"Yes," said Forbes; "it was me made her go. I put her out at the window. And I broke the window," he added, knowing that it must soon be found out, "but I'll get it mended on Monday."
Malison turned as white as a sheet with venomous rage. Indeed, the hopelessness of the situation had made Alec speak with too much nonchalance.
Anxious to curry favour, the third youngster now called out,
"Sandy Forbes gart her gang an' fess a loaf o' white breid."
Of this bread, the wretched informer had still some of the crumbs sticking to his jacket—so vitiating
