“Eh, ye ill callant,” said Bella Bathgate.

“Ye wee deevil,” said Mrs. M’Cosh, “ye micht hev had us a’ burned where we sat, and it Christmas too!”

“What made you do it, sonny?” Jean asked.

“It made it so real,” Mhor explained, “and I knew we could always throw them out of the window if they really blazed.  What’s the use of having a funeral pyre if you don’t light it?”

The actors departed to prepare for the next performance Jock coming back to put his head in at the door to ask if they had guessed the first part of the word.

Jean said she thought it must be incendiarism.

“Funeral,” said Miss Watson brightly.

“Huch,” said Jock; “it’s a word of one syllable.”

“I think,” Jean said as the door shut on Jock—­I think I know what the word is—­pyre.”

“Oh, really,” said Miss Watson, “I’m all shaking yet with the fright I got.  He’s an awful bad wee boy that—­sort of regardless.  He needs a man to look after him.”

“I’ll never forget,” said Miss Teenie, “once I was staying with a friend of ours, a doctor; his mother and our mother were cousins, you know, and when I looked—­I was doing my hair at the time—­I found that the curtain had blown across the gas and was blazing.  If I had been in our own house I would just have rushed out screaming, but when you’re away from home you’ve more feeling of responsibility and I just stood on a chair and pulled at the curtain till I brought it down and stamped on it.  My hands were all scorched, and of course the curtain was beyond hope, but when the doctor saw it, he said, ‘Teenie,’ he said—­his mither and ours were cousins, you know—­’you’re just a wee marvel.’  That was what he said—­’a wee marvel.’”

Jean said, “You were brave,” and one of the guests said that presence of mind was a wonderful thing, and then the next act was ready.

The word had evidently something to do with eating, for the three actors sat at a Barmecide feast and quaffed wine from empty goblets, and carved imaginary haunches of venison.  So far as could be judged from the conversation, which was much obscured by the smothered laughter of the actors, they seemed to belong to Robin Hood’s merry men.

The third act took place on board ship—­a ship flying the Jolly Roger—­and it was obvious to the meanest intelligence that the word was pirate.

“Very good,” said Miss Teenie, clapping her hands; “but,” addressing the Mhor, “don’t you go lighting any more funeral pyres.  Boys who do that have to go to jail.”

Mhor looked coldly at her, but made no remark, while Jean said hastily: 

“You must show everyone your wonderful present, Mhor.  I think the hall would be the best place to put it up in.”

The second part of the programme was of a varied character.  Jean led off with the old carol: 

  “There comes a ship far sailing then,
   St. Michael was the steersman,”