The competitors, who were to travel part of the way on their shanks, met soon after daybreak in Cathro’s yard, where a little crowd awaited them, parents trying to look humble, Mr. Duthie and Ramsay Cameron thinking of the morning when they set off on the same errand—­but the results were different, and Mr. Duthie is now a minister, and Ramsay is in the middle of another wob.  Both dominies were present, hating each other, for that day only, up to the mouth, where their icy politeness was a thing to shudder at, and each was drilling his detachment to the last moment, but by different methods; for while Mr. Cathro entreated Joe Meldrum for God’s sake to mind that about the genitive, and Willie Simpson to keep his mouth shut and drink even water sparingly, Mr. Ogilvy cracked jokes with Gav Dishart and explained them to Lauchlan McLauchlan.  “Think of anything now but what is before you,” was Mr. Ogilvy’s advice.  “Think of nothing else,” roared Mr. Cathro.  But though Mr. Ogilvy seemed outwardly calm it was base pretence; his dickie gradually wriggled through the opening of his waistcoat, as if bearing a protest from his inward parts, and he let it hang crumpled and conspicuous, while Grizel, on the outskirts of the crowd, yearned to put it right.

Grizel was not there, she told several people, including herself, to say good-by to Tommy, and oh, how she scorned Elspeth, for looking as if life would not be endurable without him.  Knowing what Elspeth was, Tommy had decided that she should not accompany him to the yard (of course she was to follow him to Aberdeen if he distinguished himself—­Mr. McLean had promised to bring her), but she told him of her dream that he headed the bursary list, and as this dream coincided with some dreams of his own, though not with all, it seemed to give her such fortitude that he let her come.  An expressionless face was Tommy’s, so that not even the experienced dominie of Glenquharity, covertly scanning his rival’s lot, could tell whether he was gloomy or uplifted; he did not seem to be in need of a long sleep like Willie Simpson, nor were his eyes glazed like Gav Dishart’s, who carried all the problems of Euclid before him on an invisible blackboard and dared not even wink lest he displaced them, nor did he, like Tod Lindertis, answer questions about his money pocket or where he had stowed his bread and cheese with

“After envy, spare, obey,
The dative put, remember, pray.”

Mr. Ogilvy noticed that Cathro tapped his forehead doubtfully every time his eyes fell on Tommy, but otherwise shunned him, and he asked “What are his chances?”

“That’s the laddie,” replied Mr. Cathro, “who, when you took her ladyship to see Corp Shiach years ago impersona—­”

“I know,” Mr. Ogilvy interrupted him hastily, “but how will he stand, think you?”

Mr. Cathro coughed.  “We’ll see,” he said guardedly.