I made this room as like my father's benn end as I could,
and I am happier here than anywhere in the world.'
By this time Robert was perfectly at home. Before the dinner was
ready he had not only told Dr. Anderson his present difficulty, but
his whole story as far back as he could remember. The good man
listened eagerly, gazed at the boy with more and more of interest,
which deepened till his eyes glistened as he gazed, and when a
ludicrous passage intervened, welcomed the laughter as an excuse for
wiping them. When dinner was announced, he rose without a word and
led the way to the dining-room. Robert followed, and they sat down
to a meal simple enough for such a house, but which to Robert seemed
a feast followed by a banquet. For after they had done eating--on
the doctor's part a very meagre performance--they retired to his
room again, and then Robert found the table covered with a snowy
cloth, and wine and fruits arranged upon it.
It was far into the night before he rose to go home. As he passed
through a thick rain of pin-point drops, he felt that although those
cold granite houses, with glimmering dead face, stood like rows of
sepulchres, he was in reality walking through an avenue of homes.
Wet to the skin long before he reached Mrs. Fyvie's in the auld
toon, he was notwithstanding as warm as the under side of a bird's
wing. For he had to sit down and write to his grandmother informing
her that Dr.
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