Not only did Willie pay, but he ordered the dinner, and it was one just suited to the requirements of a bright clear winter’s day. No French names either. 1. Delicious Scotch barley-broth. 2. Fresh salmon from the Dee, caught the day before, not Norwegian salmon that had lain dead in ice for three weeks, till all taste and flavour had fled to the moon or elsewhere. 3. A juicy joint of roast-beef with snow-white mashed potatoes and cauliflower. 4. Pudding and custard. 5. Cheese, oat-cakes, fresh butter, and salad. For wine, although the ladies had their option, they chose good table-ale, and the boys joined them. When about half-past five tea was brought, I think both the mother and Elsie were very happy; at any rate, they both confessed that they had never in their lives spent a more pleasant or happy day.
“The time is getting short now,” said Mrs. M‘Crae, “and I want to make sure of one thing.”
“And that is?” asked Willie.
“Sure o’ your promise to come out at Christmas when Sandie comes.”
“I promise, mother,” said Willie.
“You both look rather pale. I’m sure you’ve both been studying very hard.”
Willie smiled inwardly, but made no reply.
They sauntered down to the station in good time, and just as they were going away, and Elsie extended her hand to Willie, he gallantly pressed it to his lips.
As he raised his cap, shy eyes met his, and a smiling but blushing face.
The whistle shrieked.