CHAPTER IX.
IN THE GOOD OLD "GURNET."
Before Jack Mackenzie came to sea, he had received, as far as any boy could, a thoroughly theoretical education. His grandmother had seen to that. Much she would have liked to have the boy constantly with her, but she knew that this would not be to his advantage; for when the very best has been said about the system of what I may call fireside education under a tutor, it must be confessed that there is no emulation about it. So Jack had been sent to one of the best schools in Glasgow, and had private tutors as well, one of them being an old naval commander, who saw nothing derogatory in coaching a few young fellows who were to serve afloat. For six months every year Jack had been in Glasgow; the rest of the time he spent at Drumglen and his mother's pretty cottage.
While in Glasgow, as was only to be expected, he had spent many a pleasant day and evening at the villa of his uncle and cousins the Morgans. On Sunday he never failed to put in an appearance dressed and ready for church. But the Sabbath evenings he had used to spend as often as not with Mrs. Malony and Little Peter.
During his intercourse with his cousins, independent of his falling in love, as he termed it, with the tiny but old-fashioned Tottie, he had cemented a close and enduring friendship with the elder boy, Llewellyn.
Ah, reader! friendships like these are very sweet. Wherever in all the wide world we roam, we never, never forget them.
Llewellyn at sixteen was very tall and handsome, and in every way, one would say, cut out for a soldier. If his father was Welsh, his mother was a true Scot; he was therefore Celtic to the core. It is no wonder, then, that he should prefer a cadetship in a Highland regiment to that in any other. The 93rd is most assuredly one of the grandest and gallantest of our Scottish regiments, and has maintained its high renown on many a blood-stained field.
Just one thing I must say in favour of Jack's conservative old grandma. Although then she neither loved the Welsh nor liked business people, she did not now go the whole length of ostracizing her daughter and her family. I suppose old age has a softening effect upon the heart, for she even went so far as to invite her daughter and children now and then to Drumglen. The latter went frequently to see the old lady, but her daughter very seldom, for the simplest and best of reasons—namely, that her husband had not been included.
However, Llewellyn became a special favourite with this stern old dame, and so did Baby Morgan—that is, Jack's wee sweetheart, Tottie or Violet. What glorious days the two boys had spent together on the loch, by the riverside, in the forests—dark even in daylight—or wandering over the purple hills! Never, never would they forget these dear days while in camp or field, in the trenches, or far away on the lone blue sea.
There had been tears of genuine grief coursing down Jack's cheeks when he bade Llewellyn farewell at last; and though older, it must be confessed that the young cadet was glad in a measure when the parting was over, for there was a big lump in his throat that he had tried in vain to swallow.
Little Tottie, now nearly nine years of age, was not, truth compels me to say, so very much affected at bidding her lover good-bye as Jack, who had a large spice of romance in him, would have liked. She did not cry—not she. Her last words, as the train was starting and Jack was leaning over the window, might have been said to smack of selfishness and gore.