With a shout they all made for the kitchen.
There was Peter, thin and dirty, but in excellent spirits, wagging his tail so violently that his whole body wagged.
"See," said Mrs.M'Cosh, "he's been in a trap, but he's gotten out.
Peter's a cliver lad." Jock and Mhor had no words.

They lay on the linoleum-covered floor while Mrs.M'Cosh fetched hot milk, and crushed their faces against the little black-and-white body they had thought they might never see again, while Peter licked his own torn paw and their faces in turn.
* * * * * It was wonderfully comfortable to see Pamela settle down in the corner of the sofa with her embroidery and ask news of all her friends.

Jean had been a little shy of meeting Pamela, wondering if Lord Bidborough had told her anything, wondering if she were angry that Jean should have had such an offer, or resentful that she had refused it.

But Pamela talked quite naturally about her brother, and gave no hint that she knew of any reason why Jean should blush when his name was mentioned.
"And how are all the people--the Jowetts and the Watsons and the Dawsons?
And the dear Macdonalds?
I picked up a book in Edinburgh that I think Mr.Macdonald will like.

And Lewis Elliot--have you seen him lately, Jean ?" "He's away.