"Play as much as you like in the back yard and
garden," he said, "and mind what you'll get when you forget and
disobey." Thus he warned us with an awfully stern countenance, looking
very hard-hearted, while naturally his heart was far from hard, though
he devoutly believed in eternal punishment for bad boys both here and
hereafter. Nevertheless, like devout martyrs of wildness, we stole
away to the seashore or the green, sunny fields with almost religious
regularity, taking advantage of opportunities when father was very
busy, to join our companions, oftenest to hear the birds sing and hunt
their nests, glorying in the number we had discovered and called our
own. A sample of our nest chatter was something like this: Willie
Chisholm would proudly exclaim--"I ken (know) seventeen nests, and
you, Johnnie, ken only fifteen."
"But I wouldna gie my fifteen for your seventeen, for five of mine are
larks and mavises. You ken only three o' the best singers."
"Yes, Johnnie, but I ken six goldies and you ken only one. Maist of
yours are only sparrows and linties and robin-redbreasts.
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