"And, you know, girls, he never did."
"Eh," cried Janet, "what a shame! The public-hoose mannie wud leather
the puir beast to mak' it speak."
"That's the real point of the story, Jan. A story is no good unless it
leaves something to the imagination."
"The Mester gae us a story to write for composition the day," said
Annie. "It was aboot a boy that was after a job and a' the boys were
lined up and they had to go in to see the man, and he had a Bible lyin'
on the floor, and a' the lads steppit over it, but this laddie he pickit
it up and got the job."
"That's what you call a story with a moral, Annie. It is meant to teach
you a lesson. The best stories have no morals ... neither have the
people who listen to them."
"We had to write the story," said Ellen, "and syne we had to tell why
the boy got the job. Aw said it was becos he was a guid boy and went to
the Sunday Schule."
"Aw said it was becos he was a pernikity sort o' laddie that liked
things to be tidy," said Gladys.
Annie laughed.
"Aw said the man was maybe a fat man that cudna bend doon to pick it up.
What did you say, Jan?"
"Aw dinna mind," said Janet ruefully, "but when the Mester cried me oot
for speakin', Aw picked up a geography book on the floor, just to mak
the Mester think that Aw had learned a lesson frae his story, but he
gae me a slap on the lug for wastin' time comin' oot."
"Jim Jackson got three scuds wi' the strap for his story," said Annie.
"Ah!" I cried, "what did he write?"
"He said that the laddie maybe hadna a hankie, and his nose was needin'
dichted and he didna like to let the man see him dichtin' it wi' the
sleeve o' his jaicket, so he bent doon to pick up the Bible and dicht
his nose on the sly at the same time."
"Yes," I said sadly, "that's Jim Jacksonese, pure and simple. Poor lad!"
"The Mester said he was a vulgar fellow," said Janet.
"A low-minded something or other, he ca'ed him," said Gladys.
"But he didna greet when he got the strap," said Annie, "he just sniffed
thro' his nose and--and dichted it wi' his sleeve."