And no more was said.
That forenoon the students under the Rector adjourned to the hall, and the version was dictated, and translations gone on with.
Sandie found that version far more easy than he had expected. He hardly had to use a dictionary twice the whole time. When he had finished, he carefully revised it twice, than handed it in, and received a bow and thanks from the polite Rector.
. . . . . .
He did not forget his appointment with gentle Willie Munro, the Provost’s son. Sandie dressed most carefully for the occasion, and in his Sunday’s clothes, with a flower in his button-hole, he really looked handsome.
He was shy, however, and a little taken aback when ushered into the splendidly furnished and well-lighted drawing-room, more particularly as Willie’s mother and ever so many sisters were there. The mother rallied him about the battle with the bully, and Willie arriving just then, Sandie was soon completely at his ease. He soon found that he was among real friends, in the bosom of a family of kind-hearted people, who, though very well-to-do in the world, had none of that foolish pride only too common to people in such a station.
When at the two hours’ end Sandie left to burn the midnight oil, it was with a promise that he would come again and again, that he would look upon them as friends, and the house as his home. Sandie promised.
Very much to his own astonishment, and to the wonder of everybody else, Sandie’s version next day was declared sine errore (free from all mistakes), and from the bottom faction he was elevated to the very first, close beneath the Rector’s desk.
As he walked up the passage between the rows of seats, he held down his head, for his face was burning like a coal.
Rector Geddes held out his hand, and shook that of Sandie.