Chapter VIII. The Girl on No. 1 - Page 2

pipe and his dreams. The dingy bar-room gave place to a little sunny glen in the Highlands of Scotland, in which nestled a little cluster of stone-built cottages, moss-grown and rose-covered. Far down in the bottom of the Glen a tiny loch gleamed like a jewel. Up on the hillside above the valley an avenue of ragged pines led to a large manor house, old, quaint, but dignified, and in the doorway a maiden stood, grave of face and wonderfully sweet, in whose brown eyes and over whose brown curls all the glory of the little Glen of the Cup of Gold seemed to gather. Through many pipes he pursued his dreams, but always they led him to that old doorway and the maiden with the grave sweet face and the hair and eyes full of the golden sunlight of the Glen Cuagh Oir.

"Oh, pshaw!" he grumbled to himself at last, knocking the ashes from his pipe. "She has forgotten me. It was only one single day. But what a day!"

He lit a fresh pipe and began anew to dream of that wonderful day, that day which was the one unfading point of light in all his Old Country stay. Not even the day when he stood to receive his parchment and the special commendation of the Senatus and of his own professor for his excellent work lived with him like that day in the Glen. Every detail of the picture he could recall and ever in the foreground the maiden. With deliberate purpose he settled himself in his chair and set himself to fill in those fine and delicate touches that were necessary to make perfect the foreground of his picture, the pale olive face with its bewildering frame of golden waves and curls, the clear brown eyes, now soft and tender, now flashing with wrath, and the voice with its soft Highland cadence.

"By Jove, I'm dotty! Clean dotty! I'll make an ass of myself, sure thing, when I see her to-day." He sprang from his chair and shook himself together. "Besides, she has forgotten all about me." He looked at his watch. It was twenty minutes to train-time. He opened the door and looked out. The chill morning air struck him sharply in the face. He turned quickly, snatched his overcoat from a nail in the hall and put it on.

At this point Billy, who combined in his own person the offices of ostler, porter and clerk, appeared, his lantern shining with a dim yellow glare in the gray light of the dawn.

"No. 1 is about due, Doc," he said.

"She is, eh? I say, Billy," said the Doctor, "want to do something for me?" He pushed a dollar at Billy over the counter.

"Name it, Doc, without further insult," replied Billy, shoving the dollar back with a lordly scorn.

"All right, Billy, you're a white little soul. Now listen. I want your ladies' parlor aired."

"Aired?" gasped Billy.

"Yes, open the windows. Put on a fire. I have a lady coming--I have--that is--Sergeant Cameron's sister