Macgregor knew, but could not have put it in words.

‘Gettin’ tired o’ yer job here?’

‘Na, Uncle Purdie.’

‘H’m!’ Mr. Purdie fondled his left whisker.  ‘An’ when—­a—­ha’e ye got to—­a—­jine yer regiment?’

‘The morn’s mornin’.  I believe we’re gaun into camp immediately.’

‘Oho!  So ye’ll be wantin’ to be quit o’ yer job here at once.  Weel, weel, if ye feel it’s yer duty to gang, lad, I suppose it’s mines to let ye gang as cheery as I can.  But—­I maun tell yer aunt.’  Mr. Purdie rose.

Macgregor, smiled dubiously. ‘She’ll no’ be pleased onyway.’

’Aw, ye never can tell what’ll please yer aunt.  At least, that’s been ma experience for quarter o’ a century.  But it’ll be best to tell her—­through the ’phone, of course.  A handy invention the ‘phone.  Bide here till I come back.’

In a few minutes he returned suppressing a smile.

‘I couldna ha’e presumed frae her voice that she was delighted,’ he reported; ’but she commanded me to gi’e ye five pound for accidental expenses, as she calls them, an’ yer place here is to be preserved for ye, an’ yer wages paid, even supposin’ the war gangs on for fifty year.’

With these words Mr. Purdie placed five notes in his astonished nephew’s hand and bade him begone.

‘Ye maun tell yer mither instanter.  I canna understan’ what way ye didna tell her first.’

‘I—­I was feart I wud maybe be ower wee for the Glesca Hielanders,’ Macgregor explained.

’Ye seem to me to be a heid taller since yesterday.  Weel, weel.  God bless ye an’ so forth.  Come back an’ see me in the efternune.’

Macgregor went out with a full heart as well as a well-filled pocket.  It is hardly likely that the very first ’accidental expense’ which occurred to him could have been foreseen by Aunt Purdie—­yet who shall discover the secrets of that august lady’s mind?

On his way home he paused at sundry shop windows—­all jewellers’.  And he entered one shop, not a jeweller’s, but the little stationery and fancy goods shop owned by Miss M. Tod, and managed, with perhaps more conscience than physical toil, by the girl he had been courting for two years without having reached anything that could be termed a definite understanding, though their relations were of the most friendly and confidential nature.

‘Mercy!’ exclaimed Christina, at his entrance at so unusual an hour; ‘is the clock aff its onion, or ha’e ye received the sack?’

He was not quick at answering, and she continued:  ’Ye’re ower early, Mac.  Yer birthday present’ll no be ready till the evenin’.  Still, here’s wishin’ ye many happies, an’ may ye keep on improvin’.’

He smiled in a fashion that struck her as unfamiliar.

‘What’s up, Mac?’ she asked, kindly.  ’Surely ye ha’ena cast oot wi’ yer uncle?’

‘I’ve enlisted,’ he softly exploded.