“I congratulate you, boy, from my heart, and trust you will maintain the proud position you have now secured.”
And Sandie did. He never once had reason to leave that first faction all the time he was there. And the Munroes became his constant friends and companions whenever he had an hour to spare. Many a delightful long walk Willie and he had together out by the dark woods of Rubislaw, or by the old bridge of Balgownie, that Byron writes about so feelingly. After walks like these, Sandie always went to Willie’s house to supper. The girls would play and sing to him, and sometimes he himself would be induced to sing an auld Scotch song, so that the evenings passed quickly and pleasantly enough.
One day Sandie received a polite invitation from the Rector to come to supper. It wanted just eight days from the great competition day. The Rector was very merry to-night, and did not talk classics at all; but just before Sandie left, he took him by the hand.
“You’ll do what I tell you, won’t you?”
“I will, sir, right gladly.”
“Well, you shall go home to-morrow to the country, and you shall not open a book nor pass a single hour in study until you are seated in the University Hall with the competition papers before you. Do this, and you will succeed. Disobey me, and you will worry yourself and fail.”
“I promise,” said Sandie; and he kept his word.
CHAPTER VII
THE LOVE-DARG—THE BALL AT KILBUIE
Home with Sandie to his rural residence went Willie Munro. Willie had invited himself. Willie would not be denied. It was all in vain that Sandie had told him flatly that he would be a stranger to all luxury, that he would have to live on milk, oatmeal, sheep’s-head broth, and new-laid eggs, and sleep in a closet not big enough to swing a cat in.
“I don’t care,” cried Willie determinedly; “I’m going. Rural fare will be a delightful change, and I don’t want to swing a cat, so I’m going, Sandie. Besides,” he added demurely, “I want to get some fishing, and to hear your sister play the zither.”