“Now, mother,” said Willie blithely, “we’ve been curling, and we’re half dead with hunger. What can you give us nicest and quickest?”
“Weel, my bonnie bairns, you’ve come at the richt time. You’ll hae smeekit (smoked) bacon, new-laid eggs, chappit (mashed) tatties, oatcakes, fresh butter, tattie scones, and tea.”
“Hurrah!” cried Willie, “we’re in luck.”
And a right hearty meal they made.
Then resuming their journey, they reached the Granite City just as the sun, lurid and red, was shedding his parting beams from off the Drummond Hill.
CHAPTER II
VICTORY—POOR HERBERT GRANT
As soon after four o’clock as possible, it had been announced, the result of the competition would be made to the students from one of the windows near to the Senatus-room and overlooking the quad. So even before that time Sandie, with his friend Willie, had joined the crowd beneath the window. And a right jovial and merry crowd it was, to all outward appearance; and yet there were amongst those roystering lads many whose hearts were like Sandie’s, going pit-a-pat, and of a verity, almost sick with anxiety.
Many poor students there were from the far Highlands of Inverness, whose future careers, if not indeed their very lives, depended upon their success in this competition, and who, if unsuccessful, would have to go back to the misery of their smoky Highland homes and hard work, to be the butt of many a senseless joke and the laughing-stock of the parish, that would tell them to their faces that pride goeth before a fall and haughtiness before destruction.
Four o’clock passed, half-past four, and five—oh, so wearily away—and still the window was not opened.
But behold, a few minutes after that, the form of the old Sacrist in his dusty gown, holding a paper and a lamp, can be dimly descried behind the window.