“I know you’ll do that, but play too—­every minute you can spare.  I don’t want you to shut yourself up among books.  Try and get all the good of Oxford.  Remember, Sonny, this is your youth, and whatever you may get later you can never get that back.”  She leaned back and gave a great sigh.  “How I wish I could make this a splendid time for you, but I can’t, my dear, I can’t....  Anyway, nobody will have better china.  I’ve given you six of Aunt Alison’s rosy ones; I hope the scout won’t break them.  And your tablecloths and sheets and towels are all right, thanks to our great-aunt’s stores....  And you’ll write as often as you can and tell us everything, if you get a nice scout, and all about your rooms, and if cushions would be any use, and oh, my dear, eat as much as you can—­don’t save on food.”

“Of course not,” said David.  “But several nights a week I’ll feed in my own room.  You don’t need to go to Hall to dinner unless you like.”

He got up from the sofa and went and stood before the fire, keeping his head very much in the air and his hands in his pockets.  He was feeling that home was a singularly warm, kind place, and that the great world was cold and full of strangers; so he whistled “D’ye ken John Peel?” and squared his shoulders, and did not in the least deceive his sister Jean.

“Peter, me faithful hound,” said the Mhor, hugging the patient dog.  “What would you like to play at?”

Peter looked supremely indifferent.

“Red Indians?”

Peter licked the earnest face so near his own.

The Mhor wiped his face with the back of his hand (his morning’s handkerchief, which he alluded to as “me useful little hanky,” being used for all manner of purposes not intended by the inventor of handkerchiefs, was quite unpresentable by evening) and said: 

“I know.  Let’s play at ‘Suppose.’  Jean, let’s play at ‘Suppose.’”

“Don’t worry, darling,” said Jean.

The Mhor turned to Jock, who was sitting at a table with his head bent over a book.  “Jock, let’s play at ‘Suppose.’”

“Shut up,” said Jock.

“David.”  The Mhor turned to his last hope. “Seeing it’s your last night.”

David never could resist the Mhor when he was beseeching.

“Well, only for ten minutes, remember.”

Mhor looked fixedly at the clock, measuring with his eye the space of ten minutes, then nodded, murmuring to himself, “From there to there.  You begin, Jean.”

“I can’t think of anything,” said Jean.  Then seeing Mhor’s eager face cloud, she began:  “Suppose when David was in the train to-morrow he heard a scuffling sound under the seat, and he looked and saw a grubby little boy and a fox-terrier, and he said, ‘Come out, Mhor and Peter.’  And suppose they went with him all the way to Oxford, and when they got to the college they crept upstairs without being seen and the scout was a kind scout and liked dogs and naughty boys and he gave them a splendid supper——­”