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Take a look at the youngster, mates," said Uncle Charlie, bursting into a laugh. A general roar followed the look, for Sandy's appearance was indescribable. In his wild rush through the waters of the creek, he had covered himself from head to foot, and the mud from the wagon had painted his face a brilliant brown; for there is more or less of red oxide of iron in the mud of Kansas creeks.
It was no wonder that Andrew Falconer should be sitting with his head in his hands when Robert looked in on him, for he had read this letter. When Robert saw how he sat, he withdrew, and took his violin again, and played all the tunes of the old country he could think of, recalling Dooble Sandy's workshop, that he might recall the music he had learnt there.
In addition to the usual running and leaping contests, there was rifle and pistol shooting, in both of which old man Nelson stood first, with Shaw, foreman of the mines, second. The great event of the day, however, was to be the four-horse race, for which three teams were entered one from the mines driven by Nixon, Craig's friend, a citizens' team, and Sandy's.
When she was dressed she tip-toed down the hall and knocked at the farthest door. "Bob," she called softly. "Yes," came the instant reply. "What is it?" Fortunately the wind had rattled his shade, so that the noise had awakened him a few minutes before. "Get up," Polly called. "Sandy's awfully sick and I'm frightened." Bob hurried into his things with full speed and joined her.
In stentorian tones he rehearsed the judge's kindness in befriending him, he pointed out his generosity, and laid stress on Sandy's heinous ingratitude. Mr. Moseley had arrived with arguments and reasons and platitudes, all expressed in a polysyllabic monotone. Mr. Meech had come many times with prayers and petitions and gentle rebuke.
She had of old justly prided herself on Sandy's "hand o' write;" but she had yet to learn the difference between a school-boy's writing, with a copper-plate setting at the head of the page, and that which must be the result of a first encounter with the combined difficulties of writing, spelling and composition. Poor Sandy!
Crossing the room to a cupboard in the wall, he took down a decanter and glass and poured out a stiff dose of whisky. "There drink that," he said, squirting in the soda-water. "You'll be all right directly," he added. In a few minutes he had drawn the whole story from Sandy's eager lips, and as he listened his eyes grew curiously hard and determined.
"It may not reach us to-morrow or the next day, and we may be safe within the fort before it is down upon us." Though I had a high opinion of Sandy's sagacity, I thought that in this instance he might be mistaken. It was very important for us to reach the fort before the snow should cover the ground to any depth.
And then it proved that the wound was not serious; but he was lame and unfit for more active service and was coming home to finish his course at college if that were at all possible. And Uncle Neil took out his fiddle when the letter heralding Sandy's return was received, and played softly some of his old favourite airs; tunes Christina had not heard since the boys went away to the war.
'When you take medicine you don't swallow the bottle, I replied, for his trouble was not mine. 'If I were sure of the medicine, I wouldn't mind the bottle, and yet it acts well enough, he went on. 'I don't mind Lachlan; he's a Highland mystic, and has visions, and Sandy's almost as bad, and Baptiste is an impulsive little chap. Those don't count much.
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