“I’m right glad to hear tell o’ it. I must aye wish weel—”
“Well, Maggie, not weel.”
“Well, to the name.”
It was true. David had overstepped even his own ambition. He had finished the term with an ovation from his fellows, and he had been urged to go with Prof. Laird’s son to the outer Hebrides. And now that the strain of his study was over, and the goal, so far, nobly won, he could afford to remember his sister. Indeed David deserves more justice than these words imply. He had often thought of her since that March afternoon when he had put her into the train for Stirling. But he really believed that his first duty was to his studies, and he fully expected that his letter to Dr. Balmuto would be a sufficient movement to insure her welfare. Practically, he had thrown his own duty upon the minister’s conscience, but he felt sure that the good man had accepted the obligation, for if not, he would certainly have written to him on the subject.
He sent the doctor the newspapers advertising his success, and a couple of days afterward went to Kinkell. Young Laird did not require his company for a week, and he thought well of himself for taking a journey to Fife merely to pleasure his sister, before he took his own pleasure. He had improved much in personal appearance during his residence in Glasgow. He was well dressed, and he had acquired an easy confidence of manner which rather took Dr. Balmuto by surprise. Perhaps it irritated him a little also; for he was not at all satisfied with David. The first words he said were not words of congratulation, they were a stern inquiry.
“David Promoter, where is your sister Maggie? Has she come back with you?”
“I came to ask you about Maggie, sir.”
“Me! What way would you come to me? I have nothing to do with Maggie Promoter.”
“Sir, when she left me last March, I gave her a letter to you, and put her in the train that was to bring her here.”
“What did you write to me about?”