THE PORRIDGE POT.

Auckland Star, Volume LXI, Issue 33, 8 February 1930, Page 2 (Supplement)

THE PORRIDGE POT.

The battle of Culloden had ended in utter defeat, and the Prince was a fugitive. v English soldiers hunted the hills and searched dwellings for men or hidden firearms. -There came one day to the little croft of the Macdonnells, at the head of the glen, a young English officer and five men. Lan and Mary were alone, their mother was working in the field. Lieutenant Page looked round the poor little place and at the two children, dumb with fear. "Where is your father?" he asked sharply. "We think lie was killed," said Mary slowly, in the English she had learned from the minister. "You think?" ejaculated Page. Then his eyes rested on the press bed completely filling a recess At its foot was a wide niche in the wall which appeared to be stuffed with hay. . It flashed into his mind that something might be hid there. He stepped forward and snatched away the hay, then, jerking up his coat sleeve to give his arm greater freedom, he thrust his hand into the space, only to withdraw it instantly with a violent exclamation of pain and anger. Hand and arm had plunged straight into a cauldron of boiling porridge.

Mary Macdonnell sprang forward in dismay, and a moment later was wiping off the scalding stuff with an air of motherly concern. She cried out someing in Qaelic to her brother, and when he made no response, repeated her words sharply.

Then he moved slowly to a cupboard and brought out a meal barrel and some fat.

Mary deftly covered the scalded limb, then dived under the press bed. and

brought out an old garment. Tearing off strips, she bound up the man's arm.

"Indeed, sir, we are very sorry," she said. "My mother put the porridge there to keep it hot."

Lieutenant Page looked at the little girl and his stern face relaxed. A sharp order to his soldiers, and they wheeled round and left the cottage. "Thank you, my little maid," said he, laying his bandaged hand on her flaxen hair. Then he turned and marched after his men.

Ten minutes later Mrs. Macdonneil, white-faced, rushed into the cottage. She saw the empty niche, the spilt porridge, and her hand flew to her throat.

"The soldiens! They have been here?" she gasped. Lan, no longer dumb, explained what had happened. Mrs. Macdonneil sank into the rock-ing-chair, and in a hoaree whisper she said, "Your father—he came last night —wounded."

"Where is father?" asked lan. "He could not get in there," pointing to the niche. *

Mrs. Macdonneil smiled faintly. "He lies hid in the rafters. Had they searched they would have found him."

A TABLE TRICK.

• . • • ■ • ...V . ■ , Take a match-box out of your pocket and throw it into the air, making it land on the table. It falls label up, and you make it land label-up,as many times as requested. You simply prepare the box before hand by placing a half-penny between the bottom of the drawer and the box.