Wishing to pass a week with his family before school reopened, the pupil had told his professor that he wished to leave Braemar before him.
The day before that which he had fixed for his departure, a fearful storm had burst over the neighbourhood.
Arrived with his knapsack on his back at the banks of the Dee, he saw before him, not a peaceful stream, but an angry torrent, swollen and lashed to fury by the storm.
The young Scotchman was not to be intimidated. He had crossed many times, and he would do it again. Besides, the only other way of getting to the station was by going two or three miles further down and taking the boat. He prepared to ford the stream.
Next day the poor young fellow's corpse, bruised and mangled, was found a mile down the river.
It would be beyond my powers to describe the despair of the professor, when he heard of the terrible catastrophe. Entrusted with the care of the young man, he felt as if guilty of his death. What could he say to the unhappy parents?
A telegram was despatched to the father, who arrived the day after. My friend went to meet him at the station. What was his relief when he heard this father say to him: "The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord."
And he added:
"This sublime passage is from Job, first chapter and twenty-second verse—let me see, is it the twenty-first or the twenty-second verse? It is the twenty-first, I am pretty sure."
"I fear I cannot say," replied my friend.