"Well, no, I cannot as yet give myself airs about my age, but I'm wearing on. But to business, lad. The examination is a stiff one."
"Yes, Daddy. But won't I study just; and I'm sure I'll pass even in history, though I hate it. I'll read up like fun."
"There won't be much fun in it. But I'll coach you in French anyhow. You are right as to age for eight months to come. Well, of course your old Daddy will get your outfit. And as they give no pay to cadets in the Britannia, but demand £75 a year, I'll make it £85."
"Oh, thanks, dear Daddy!"
"Fain would I go south with you, but I shall not leave my island for some time yet. Don't imagine I am going to be downright unhappy,—because I sha'n't be. Your friend Archie M'Laren will bring me all I want off from the shore. Fishermen will often visit me, and your minister M'Ian. Then I shall have my fiddle, and, last but not least, our dear doggie here. We'll both miss you, but I shall think of you every time I gaze into his loving eyes."
If a bomb-shell had suddenly burst over the hut it would have had a far less stunning effect upon poor Creggan than the hermit's last words. Would he, after all, have to go away without his doggie? Had he looked at Oscar for even a moment, he would have burst out crying like a girl.
He just gazed into the fire for a few minutes in silence, then rose.
"I'll be back in a very short time, Daddy," he said. "And shall I light the beacon?"
"Do, like a good lad."
Creggan went out into the clear and starry summer's night.