As the little figure came bounding out from the forest the whole quartette broke into a welcoming shout. With an answering whoop the boy darted forward and pitched himself upon the sleigh. "Horo, Scotty!" "Woohoo!" "How's our big college-student?" He was caught up and flung from one to another like a bundle of hay, until he landed, laughing and breathless, in the arms of the driver. Big Malcolm MacDonald stood the boy up between his knees, his deep eyes shining with pride. "Hey, hey!" he cried. "And how's our big man that will be going to school?" The boy's dark eyes were blazing with excitement. "Oh, Grandad, it would jist be fine! It's jist grand! An' me an' Big Sandy's Archie and Peter Jimmie is all readin' in one place, an' the master says I can read jist fine, whatever!" "Didn't you get a lickin'?" demanded a voice from the rear of the sleigh. The bright face suddenly fell, one could never aspire to be a hero until one had braved the master's tawse. "No," was the reluctant admission. "The master would be jist fearsome to the big lads, but he would not be saying anything to me. But," he added, brightening, "I would be having a fight!" "Horo!" the three young men laughed delightedly. "That will be a fine start, jist keep it up!" cried the youth on the front seat. "Hoots, whist ye, Callum!" cried the elder man, reprovingly, while his dancing eyes contradicted his tongue. "What will his Granny be sayin' to such goin's on, an' the first day at school, too!" "And who would you be fightin', Scotty?" asked Uncle Rory, leaning eagerly forward. "Danny Murphy!" he announced truculently, "an' I would be lickin' him good, too!" There was a chorus of joyous approval. "Good for you!" shouted Callum; "jist you pitch into any o' yon Irish crew every time you get a chance!" "Be quate, will ye, Callum!" cried his father more sternly. "The lad will be jist like yerself, too ready with his fists, whatever. A brave man will never be a boaster, Scotty, man." The would-be hero's head drooped; he looked slightly abashed. "What would Danny be doin' to you?" inquired Callum. At the question, the proud little head came up swiftly. "He said--he said!" cried its owner, stammering in his wrath, "he said I would be an Englishman!" Small comfort he received, for the report of this deadly insult produced yells of laughter. "Yon was a black-hearted Irish trick, an' jist like one o' Pat Murphy's tribe, whatever," said Callum, with a sudden affectation of solemnity that somewhat appeased the child's rising indignation. "An' you would be pitchin' into him good for his lies, wouldn't you?" inquired Rory, encouragingly. The boy looked up shyly at his grandfather. "A wee bit," he admitted modestly.