"He said 'sure as death,' and he would mind that promise at the last hour, if he forgot it before; so, if he could not come, he'd doubtless send, and this will be his message. Poor Sandy! there was never a lad like him!"
When he reached Messrs. Morgan & Black's, he was allowed to stand unnoticed by the stove a few minutes, and during them his spirits sank to their usual placid level. At length some one said:
"Well, old man, what do you want?"
"I am David Morrison, and I just came to see what you wanted."
"Oh, you are David Morrison! Good! Go forward—I think you will find out, then, what we want."
He was not frightened, but the man's manner displeased him, and, without answering, he walked toward the door indicated, and quietly opened it.
An old gentleman was standing with his back to the door, looking into the fire, and one rather younger, was writing steadily away at a desk. The former never moved; the latter simply raised his head with an annoyed look, and motioned to Davie to close the door.
"I am David Morrison, sir."
"Oh, Davie! Davie! And the old blue bonnet, too! Oh, Davie! Davie, lad!"
As for Davie, he was quite overcome. With a cry of joy so keen that it was like a sob of pain, he fell fainting to the floor. When he became conscious again he knew that he had been very ill, for there were two physicians by his side, and Sandy's face was full of anguish and anxiety.