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case, turned to the little boy, and in a soft soothing voice sail, 'Did they frighten my wee Jock with the bogles? I think they were nae blate. Ah! ah! continued he, pretending to       strike the mother, tak' ye that, nasty mammy, for sending for the bogles. Come to daddy, my       dear pet, and the bogles shallna touch ye. Awa,' dirty boglės, ye shallna touch my gude bairn.' Jock, however, had a will of his own, and he       knew from experience, that by holding out he        could bring his father to his own terms. He       therefore obstinately refused to leave his hiding- place, and persisted in crying, though in a lower tone. Come awa', my bonny man', resumed the fond father, pretending to search for some- thing in his pocket, 'come awa,' and see what I       hae gotten here. Here's an apple for a good boy. A bonny red cheekit apple! There's a       good bairn. Isna he a gude bairn, uncle George? I made no answer to this appeal, but waited in       silence to see how this curious scene would end. In the meantime, the little fellow, bribed by the deceitful promise, came slowly from his corner, and, with his finger in his mouth, walked up to       his father's knee. My brother took him in his arms, and wiping his face, which was all be- slabbered with tears and dirt, called him 'his dear gude wee Jockey,' and kissed him from ear to       ear. WEE JOCKEY, however, was not easily cajoled. 'Where's my apple? Gie's the apple! Gie's the apple I tell ye!' was so often and so       firmly repeated, that the indulgent father, who had no apple to give, began to repent of his