"No," said the Scotch Preacher, "it's not decided--yet."
"Dr. McAlway hasn't made up his mind," I said, "whether Carlstrom is to
go or not."
But the Scotch Preacher was in no mood for joking.
"David," he said, "did you ever know anything about the homesickness of
the foreigner?"
He paused a moment and then continued, nodding his great shaggy head:
"Man, man, how my old mither greeted for Scotland! I mind how a sprig of
heather would bring the tears to her eyes; and for twenty years I dared
not whistle "Bonnie Doon" or "Charlie Is My Darling" lest it break her
heart. 'Tis a pain you've not had, I'm thinking, Davy."
"We all know the longing for old places and old times," I said.
"No, no, David, it's more than that. It's the wanting and the longing
to see the hills of your own land, and the town where you were born, and
the street where you played, and the house----"