CHAPTER XVIII.
THE MUCKLEY Every child in Thrums went to bed on the night before the Muckley hugging a pirly, or, as the vulgar say, a money-box; and all the pirlies were ready for to-morrow, that is to say, the mouths of them had been widened with gully knives by owners now so skilful at the jerk which sends their contents to the floor that pirlies they were no longer.
"Disgorge!" was the universal cry, or, in the vernacular, "Out you come, you sweer deevils!" Not a coin but had its history, not a boy who was unable to pick out his own among a hundred.

The black one came from the 'Sosh, the bent lad he got for carrying in Ronny-On's sticks.

Oh michty me, sure as death he had nearly forgotten the one with the warts on it.

Which to spend first?
The goldy one?
Na faags, it was ower ill to come by.

The scartit one?
No, no, it was a lucky.