“I’m crazy to see Ayr,” said Babe the next day. “I’m very fond of Burns’s poems, and I can just imagine the sleepy, old-fashioned little hamlet he was born in. His birthplace and the haunted kirk and the bridges across the Doon and all the other Burns relics are out in the country, about two miles from the station. Let’s buy some fruit and sweet chocolate and eat our lunch on the way. It will be a lovely walk, I’m sure.”