face to see once more the
lovely lady-girl! He bethought himself that he was no longer a
cowherd but a student, and that such feelings were unworthy of one
who would walk level with his fellows. He rushed to the labours of
his toilette, performed severe ablutions, endued his best
shirt--coarse, but sweet from the fresh breezes of Glashgar, a pair
of trousers of buff-coloured fustian stamped over with a black
pattern, an olive-green waistcoat, a blue tailcoat with lappets
behind, and a pair of well-polished shoes, the soles of which in
honour of Sunday were studded with small instead of large knobs of
iron, set a tall beaver hat, which no brushing would make smooth, on
the back of his head, stuffed a silk hankerchief, crimson and
yellow, in his pocket, and declared himself ready.

Now Gibbie, although he would not have looked so well in his woolly
coat in Mrs. Sclater's drawing-room as on the rocks of Glashgar,
would have looked better in almost any other than the evening dress,
now, alas! nearly European. Mr. Sclater, on the other hand, would
have looked worse in any other because being less commonplace, it
would have been less like himself; and so long as the commonplace
conventional so greatly outnumber the simply individual, it is
perhaps well the present fashion should hold. But Donal could
hardly have put on any clothes that would have made him look worse,
either in respect of himself or of the surroundings of social life,
than those he now wore. Neither of the boys, however, had begun to
think about dress in relation either to custom or to fitness, and it
was with complete satisfaction that Gibbie carried off Donal to
present to the guest of his guardians.

Donal's preparations had taken a long time, and before they reached
the house, tea was over and gone. They had had some music; and Mrs.
Sclater was now talking kindly to two of the school-girls, who,
seated erect on the sofa, were looking upon her elegance with awe
and envy. Ginevra, was looking at the pictures of an annual. Mr.
Sclater was making Miss Kimble agreeable to herself. He had a
certain gift of talk--depending in a great measure on the assurance
of being listened to, an assurance which is, alas! nowise the less
hurtful to many a clergyman out of the pulpit, that he may be
equally aware no one heeds him in it.

CHAPTER XLVI.

THE GIRLS.

The door was opened. Donal spent fully a minute rubbing his shoes
on the mat, as diligen