“You are quite right, Sandy,” said Rory in reply—“quite right; and do you know what it will be, Sandy?”
“What?” asked Sandy.
“A vera judeecious arrangement,” cried Rory, running off before Sandy had a chance of catching him by the ear and making him “whustle.”
But right fervent were the wishes for the doctor’s welfare when he bade his friends adieu. And,—
“You’ll be sure to send us a piece o’ the bride-cake,” said Ralph.
“I’m no vera sure,” said Sandy, “if it will ever come the length o’ bride-cake. But,” he added, bravely, “a body can only just try.”
“Bravo!” cried Allan; “whatever a true man honestly dares he can do.”
“And it’s sure to come right in the end,” said Rory.
So away went Sandy’s boat, and away went the Arrandoon, firing the farewell guns, and as gaily bedecked in flags as if it had been Sandy’s wedding morning.
The Arrandoon sailed nearly all the way home, for a favouring breeze was blowing, and with stunsails set, low and aloft, she looked like some gigantic sea-bird; and bravely, too, the little Polar Star kept her in sight. As for Silas, he did not live on board his own ship at all, but on board the Arrandoon. There was so much to be said and to say that they could not spare him.