It seemed as if the gale increased in force as it blew the dust and twigs against the window, and hurried on with a shrill whistle around the corner.
After the table had been cleared, they took their places before the great fireplace, Sandy, Margaret and Janie making a group in the centre, while at one side sat the great brindle cat, Tam o' Shanter, and at a respectful distance, on the opposite side of the hearth stone, stood the Scotch Collie, Sir Walter Scott.
Tam, with his forepaws snugly tucked in, and his great yellow eyes blinking at the bright flames, was a picture of contentment.
Sir Walter looked eagerly at Sandy, and longed to go and sit beside him, but that would necessitate rather close proximity to Tam, and Tam usually resented such familiarity, so the dog kept his place, and as he listened to the conversation, seemed to understand what was being said.
"I'll put fresh logs on the fire," said Sandy, "tae keep the cauld oot, and I'm hopin' that there's nae ane abroad this night."
At the little depot at the Centre, the station master stood upon the platform looking anxiously up the track, hoping to see the light of an approaching train.
"'Most three hours late," muttered the man. "I'd like ter know if it ain't er comin' ter-night."
As he turned to re-enter the depot, a faint whistle made itself heard above the clamor of the wind and turning he saw the headlight of the engine coming around the bend.
"There she is naow," he remarked, and as the train stopped, the mail bag was quickly thrown out upon the platform and instantly picked up and carried into the depot.
The station agent did not dream that anyone would arrive so late in the village on such a night, so having secured the mail bag, he allowed the train to depart without even a glance at its receding form.