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Updated: May 21, 2025
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.
Having good helpers at home, and his late-developed energy turning itself entirely into the new channel, he got on admirably. As there was no other room to be had in Mrs. Fyvie's house, he continued for the rest of the session to sleep upon the rug, for he would not hear of going to another house.
Robert again slept in the evening, after Shargar came home, and made up for the time by reading while he sat by his friend. Mrs. Fyvie's attendance was in requisition only for the hours when he had to be at lectures. By the greatest economy of means, consisting of what Shargar brought in by jobbing about the quay and the coach-offices, and what Robert had from Dr.
They put up a great screen inside the door, and there the lan'less laird lay like a lord. Robert's heart was dreary when he got on the box-seat of the mail-coach at Rothieden it was yet drearier when he got down at The Royal Hotel in the street of Ben Accord and it was dreariest of all when he turned his back on Ericson's, and entered his own room at Mrs. Fyvie's.
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