Shot looked very sad. He did not know what to make of it all. He whined impatiently. Then he licked Archie’s wet face and touched Kenneth under the arm with his nose, as some dogs have a way of doing.
“Poor Shot!” said Kenneth. “You too have lost a faithful friend.”
Together, after this, they took their way down the hill.
A short, crisp, and gentlemanly letter came to Kenneth two days after this. It was from Jessie’s father.
“My daughter has spoken much about you,” said this epistle, “and quite induced me to take an interest in your welfare. The situation of under-ghillie at my Highland shooting-box is vacant. I have much pleasure in placing it at your disposal. You will be good enough therefore to enter on your duties on Monday next, etc, etc.”
Kenneth’s cheek burned like a glowing peat. He tore the letter in fragments, and threw them in the fire.
“Mother,” he cried, “dear mother, it needed but this! I shall leave the glen. I go to seek our fortune—your fortune, mother, and my own. I shall return in a few years as wealthy mayhap as the proud Saxon who now offers me the position of under-ghillie. Mother, it is best I should go.”
I pass over the parting between the mother and her boy.