"Dear Mr. Jamieson,--The class honour lists are just out, and you
will be pleased to know that I have got the medal both in the
Humanity and the Greek."

There was something about telling his mother, and his gratitude to
his schoolmaster, but Domsie heard no more. He tried to speak and
could not, for a rain of tears was on his hard old face. Domsie was
far more a pagan than a saint, but somehow he seemed to me that day
as Simeon, who had at last seen his heart's desire, and was
satisfied.

When the school had dispersed with a joyful shout, and disappeared
in the pine woods, he said, "Ye'll come too," and I knew he was
going to Whinnie Knowe. He did not speak one word upon the way, but
twice he stood and read the letter which he held fast in his hand.
His face was set as he climbed the cart track. I saw it set again as
we came down that road one day, but it was well that we could not
pierce beyond the present.

Whinnie left his plough in the furrow, and came to meet us, taking
two drills at a stride, and shouting remarks on the weather yards
off.

Domsie only lifted the letter. "Frae George."

"Ay, ay, and what's he gotten noo?"

Domsie solemnly unfolded the letter, and brought down his spectacles.
"Edinburgh, April 7th." Then he looked at Whinnie, and closed his