"Curds and cream first, salmon and roast duck second, and, for the third, cheddar cheese, beautifully browned oat cakes and a glass of old port that Blackie said 'fell like the dew of Hermon' upon the oat cakes." "That was like Blackie. His similes often have a Biblical flavor." "He talked wisely and cleverly about eating, said the Englishman was an aristocratic animal, and his eating large, royal and rich, and that the man who fed in his style would do nothing in a meager style. The French thought we did not understand how to eat--that we eat without science, had only one sauce, that we made of flour and water, and called melted butter. He quoted Novalis for the Germans, who said, 'Eating is an accentuated living.' I think, Father, Novalis is right, for everything is always best when well accentuated. A student from Edinburgh joined us while we were eating, a tall, thin man who was living on the hills to recruit after the severe drill of last winter at the University." "Yes, the drill is severe," said Dr. Macrae, "unless you have a grand purpose for it." "Blackie said he knew him well, that he met him near Glencoe two years ago, and at that time he could only speak a few words in broken English. Two years afterward he won the bronze medal in the Greek class at Edinburgh, and that all had been done upon oatmeal, cheese, salt herrings, and fifteen pounds sterling." "That is by no means a singular instance," said Dr. Macrae. "All things are possible to a Scotch Celt in love with learning and seeing a pulpit in the distance. No doubt his medal paid for all his privations." "I was very sorry for the man. That bronze medal would not have paid me for two years' hard study and meager living." "I am sorry to hear you say that, Donald," and Dr. Macrae's face suddenly shadowed, and he asked for no further stories of his son's holiday. On the contrary he remembered some letters that must be written, and rose, saying: "Donald, after breakfast to-morrow morning, I should like to speak to you. Come to my study." "Yes, Father. I will certainly come." Then, with a slight reluctance, Dr. Macrae went away, but long afterward he could hear, if he listened, sounds of happy talk and laughter at the pleasant table he had deserted. And he had several longings to go back to the cheerful parlor; his heart was not satisfied, and he could offer it no excuse for its deprivation that it would accept. "I am sorry Father has gone away, Donald," said Marion. "I had a feeling you were coming to something very interesting." "Then it is just as well his father did not stay to hear it," replied Mrs. Caird. "I never saw two men whose ideas of what was interesting were further apart than those of Ian and Donald Macrae."