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 his small burden tight and rained uncounted kisses all over the little face and head.

The tongue of a Scotsman is usually rather stiff, but in that tense instant Jamie’s ran away with him.

“You little thing!” he said. “You brave little thing! You’ve done it. You’ve saved the Bee Master’s gift for us. John Carey was with me back there and both of us saw and heard enough to send that woman to the penitentiary. So don’t you cry any more! Let me hold you tight and rest a minute. It was a big strain. It was too much for you, you poor little darling!”

Just for an instant Jamie thought the burden in his arms was going to spring entirely from him, the stiffening and the straightening were so abrupt.

“Little darlin’!’” scoffed the Scout Master. “‘Little darlin’! Next thing I reckon you’ll be callin’ me ‘Kiddo’! That’s what she called me. If anybody ever calls me ‘Kiddo’ in all this world again, I’ll kick their teeth in! That’s that!”

The Scout Master hunted for something that would be good to dry eyes on, and failing to find it, sat very still while Jamie used his handkerchief.

“I don’t know what you are goin’ to do with me,” gulped the little Scout. “I reckon I’ve just about wrecked the marigold bed, and it was on your side of the line.”

“Well, never mind the marigolds,” said Jamie. “We can make up the bed and sow some more seed. Never mind the marigolds! Tell me what happened.”

“It was just all I could do,” said the Scout Master, “to