If I had even said to wee Davie that I was sorry, I do not think I should have done the other wicked things that followed; for this was not all by any means.

In a little while Peter joined me.

He laughed, of course, when I told him how the girl had run like a frighted hare, but that was poor fun in his eyes.
"Look here, Ranald," he said, holding out something like a piece of wood.
"What is it, Peter ?" I asked.
"It's the stalk of a cabbage," he answered.

"I've scooped out the inside and filled it with tow.

We'll set fire to one end, and blow the smoke through the keyhole." "Whose keyhole, Peter ?" "An old witch's that I know of.