The elder of them, the Prince of Wales, at once recognising his antagonist of three days ago, stepped up to him and said, with a frank and kindly smile:
"Good-morning, Tam! You haven't forgotten me, have you?"
Tam uttered a barely audible "Nae."
"And you hold no grudge against me for throwing your stick in the river, do you?"
Another demure "Nae" found its way between Tam's half-closed teeth; but this time he allowed his blue eyes to meet the young Prince's in a surprised gaze.
"Then let us shake hands and be friends," said the Prince.
Tam extended his brown paw, and they clasped in token of mutual goodwill.
The little scene transacted itself almost as quickly as it can be read—so quickly, indeed, that Tam's grandparents witnessed it in mute astonishment; and before they had recovered their self-possession, the Lady who had called at the hut on Tam's account issued from the house, looking much as she had done the previous day, with the exception that a broad-brimmed straw hat covered her head in place of a sun-bonnet.
"So you found the little runagate, did you?" said she, addressing the old folks.