Mr. Traill set him upright again.
"Did ye ever gang on a picnic, bairnies?" And what was a picnic?
Tammy ventured the opinion that it might be some kind of a cart
for lame laddies to ride in.
"A picnic is when ye gang gypsying in the summer," Mr. Traill
explained. "Ye walk to a bonny green brae, an' sit doon under a
hawthorntree a' covered wi' posies, by a babblin' burn, an' ye
eat oot o' yer ain hands. An' syne ye hear a throstle or a
redbreast sing an' a saucy blackbird whustle."
"Could ye tak' a dog?" asked Tammy.
"Ye could that, mannie. It's no' a picnic wi'oot a sonsie doggie
to rin on the brae wi' ye."
"Oh!" Ailie's blue eyes slowly widened in her pallid little face.
"But ye couldna hae a picnic i' the snawy weather."
"Ay, ye could. It's the bonniest of a' when ye're no' expectin'
it. I aye keep a picnic hidden i' the ingleneuk aboon." He
suddenly swung Tammy up on his shoulder, and calling, gaily,
"Come awa'," went out the door, through another beside it, and up
a flight of stairs to the dining-room above. A fire burned there
in the grate, the tables were covered with linen, and there were
blooming flowers in pots in the front windows. Patrons from the
University, and the well-to-do streets and squares to the south
and east, made of this upper room a sort of club in the evenings.
At four o'clock in the afternoon there were no guests.
"Noo," said Mr. Traill, when his overcome little guests were
seated at a table in the inglenook.
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