At length one day when Robert came home he found him seated at the
table, with his slate, working away at the Differential Calculus.
After this he recovered more rapidly, and ere another week was over
began to attend one class a day. He had been so far in advance
before, that though he could not expect prizes, there was no fear of
his passing.
One morning, Robert, coming out from a lecture, saw Ericson in the
quadrangle talking to an elderly gentleman. When they met in the
afternoon Ericson told him that that was Mr. Lindsay, and that he
had asked them both to spend the evening at his house. Robert would
go anywhere to be with his friend.
He got out his Sunday clothes, and dressed himself with anxiety: he
had visited scarcely at all, and was shy and doubtful. He then sat
down to his books, till Ericson came to his door--dressed, and hence
in Robert's eyes ceremonial--a stately, graceful gentleman. Renewed
awe came upon him at the sight, and renewed gratitude. There was a
flush on Ericson's cheek, and a fire in his eye. Robert had never
seen him look so grand. But there was a something about him that
rendered him uneasy--a look that made Ericson seem strange, as if
his life lay in some far-off region.
'I want you to take your violin with you, Robert,' he said.
'Hoots!' returned Robert, 'hoo can I do that? To tak her wi' me the
first time I gang to a strange hoose, as gin I thocht a'body wad
think as muckle o' my auld wife as I do mysel'! That wadna be
mainners--wad it noo, Mr.
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