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Elphinstone Kist   Stories for Bairns

Brockit the Hero     by: Wheeler, Les

Brockit hid bin gie ill efter eatin the berries but eence he hid bin nursed better by the ferm-wife she decidit that noo he wis a bit aulder, Brockit could jist make his hame in the ferm-hoose an keep a waatch-oot for ony moose that thocht it micht mak its hame in the hoose! The fermer wisna that keen on the idea at first, but he kent his wife, so he jist tholed an said naethin.

Truth tae tell. the fermer got gie fond o Brockit an the kitlin wid aften climb up on his knee for a wee nap fan the fermer wis sittin by the fire at nicht listenin tae his favourite music on the wireless. Mine you, the fermer niver said onything tae his wife aboot foo much he likit Brockit. That widna hae deen at aa!

It sae happent that ae nicht the fermer an his wife wint oot visitin some freens an left Brockit on his lane. Brockit hid a fine time tae himsel streechit oot on the clootie rug in front o the fire an dreamin on aa the ploys he wis gyan tae get up till in the mornin.

The fermer an his wife cam hame an it wis gie late for them tae hae bin oot. A wee miaow fae Brpckit made sure they didna forget tae leave oot a drappie milk for him. but that wis aboot aa they did afore gyan up tae thir beds an leavin Brockit on his lane eence mair.

Noo they hid forgotten tae dee somethin that is verra important in a hoose wi an open fire. The fermer hidna settled the fire nor hid he pit a guard in front o it. They should hae kent better.

Aye, yir richt! The fermer an his wife hidna bin lang in their beds fan a wee het cinder drappit fae the fire an landit richt on the clootie rug.

Brockit could see an smell that aa wisna weel. He loupit oot o his bed wi a muckle skraich an wint stracht up the stairs makkin enuff din fur a hunner kitlins.

The fermer an his wife heard him aa richt!
‘That’s your kitlin makin aa that din,’ said the fermer.
‘Och, he’ll seen be quaet,’ said the ferm-wife.

But Brockit wisna quaet an made sic a din that the fermer rose fae his bed tae tell Brockit jist fit he thocht aboot him an the din he wis makkin.

Weel, it wis a happy fermer fa gaed back till his bed. He smellt the smoke as seen as he got tae the bottom o the stair. He seen pit oot the wee bleeze an settled the fire an pit a guard in front o’t!

It micht hae bin worse if it hidna bin for Brockit. He wis noo the hero o the ferm for the ferm-hoose micht hae bin burnt doon. Fan the fermer got back tae his bed his face wis the verra picter o pride.

‘Fit did I tell ye?’ boastit the fermer tae his wife, ‘that’s as gran a wee kitlin as iver ye’d find. If it hidna bin for Brockit we could hae bin burnt tae a cinder. I’m richt gled I let him bide in the hoose we hiz!’ The ferm-wife jist gaed him a gie queer look, but said naethin.

Doonstairs in the kitchen oor hero. Brockit, settled doon aside a special bowlie o milk wi a muckle great clort o cream on the tap o it. Sometimes it wis jist grand bein a fermtoon kitlin.



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