Sandie is in such a hurry that he almost forgets to give up his ticket. He rushes off the little platform, and next moment is almost capsized by Tyro himself, who is perfectly wild in his demonstrations of joy and undying love.
“Oh,” he seems to tell Sandie, “I thought I would never, never see you more; I thought you were dead and away, and now, what can I do to allay my feelings?”
And in order to do so the poor dog must commence flying round and round in a circle, so quickly that his shape is barely distinguishable. Having fondly embraced his sister, and asked after his father and mother, and while Willie and she are shaking hands, Sandie takes Raglan’s head in his arms to cuddle. Then he kisses his soft snout, and the horse whinnies a welcome.
Sandie next takes a paper parcel from his ulster and opens it, extracting therefrom great slabs of white oat-cake.
“Lord Raglan,” he cries, “I didn’t forget you.”
Raglan whinnies once more, and probably enjoys that cake far more than he has enjoyed anything for many a day.
Tyro also has a share. Then all wheel happily home to the farm of old Kilbuie.
. . . . . .
“I shan’t touch a classic or open a book on mathematics until we return to college.” That is what Sandie told Willie next morning at breakfast.
“Well, now, I do call that wise,” replied Willie; “one doesn’t expect much wisdom from a genius—one doesn’t really, but for once in a way——”