like a
pair of eager compasses, holding out his hand.

'I'm Robert Faukner,' said the boy. 'Ye'll min', maybe, doctor, 'at ye
war verra kin' to me ance, and tellt me lots o' stories--at Bodyfauld,
ye ken.'

'I'm very glad to see you, Robert,' said Dr. Anderson. 'Of course I
remember you perfectly; but my servant did not bring your name, and I
did not know but it might be the other boy--I forget his name.'

'Ye mean Shargar, sir. It's no him.'

'I can see that,' said the doctor, laughing, 'although you are altered.
You have grown quite a man! I am very glad to see you,' he repeated,
shaking hands with him again. 'When did you come to town?'

'I hae been at the grammer school i' the auld toon for the last three
months,' said Robert.

'Three months!' exclaimed Dr. Anderson. 'And never came to see me till
now! That was too bad of you, Robert.'

'Weel, ye see, sir, I didna ken better. An' I had a heap to do, an' a'
for naething, efter a'. But gin I had kent 'at ye wad like to see me, I
wad hae likit weel to come to ye.'

'I have been away most of the summer,' said the doctor; 'but I have been
at home for the last month. You haven't had your dinner, have you?'

'Weel, I dinna exackly ken what to say, sir. Ye see, I wasna that
sharp-set the day, sae I had jist a mou'fu' o' breid and cheese. I'm
turnin' hungry, noo, I maun confess.'

The doctor rang the bell.

'You must stop and dine with me.--Johnston,' he continued, as his
servant entered, 'tell the cook that I have a gentleman to dinner with
me to-day, and she must be liberal.'

'Guidsake, sir!' said Robert, 'dinna set the woman agen me.'

He had no intention of saying anything humorous, but Dr. Anderson
laughed heartily.

'Come into my room till dinner-time,' he said, opening the door by which
he had entered.

To Robert's astonishment, he found himself in a room bare as that of
the poorest cottage. A small square window, small as the window in
John Hewson's, looked out upon a garden neatly kept, but now 'having no
adorning but cleanliness.' The place was just the benn end of a cottage.
The walls were whitewashed, the ceiling was of bare boards, and the
floor was sprinkled with a little white sand. The table and chairs were
of common deal, white and clean, save that the former was spotted with
ink. A greater contrast to the soft, large, richly-coloured room they
had left could hardly be imagined. A few bookshelves on the wall were
filled with old books.