ing himself alone, he curled up in
a big leather chair and gave himself up to his 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, Bill