He had been there a month, when his professor said good-naturedly-- "Don't you think, Mr.Riach, you would get on better if you took your hands out of your pockets ?" "No, sir, I don't think so," replied Andrew, in all honesty.
When told that he must apologise, he did not see it, but was willing to argue the matter out.
Next year he matriculated at Edinburgh, sharing one room with two others; studying through the night, and getting their bed when they rose.

He was a failure in the classics, because they left you where you were, but in his third year he woke the logic class-room, and frightened the professor of moral philosophy.
He was nearly rusticated for praying at a debating society for a divinity professor who was in the chair.
"O Lord!" he cried, fervently, "open his eyes, guide his tottering footsteps, and lead him from the paths of folly into those that are lovely and of good report, for lo! his days are numbered, and the sickle has been sharpened, and the corn is not yet ripe for the cutting." When Andrew graduated he was known as student of mark.
He returned to Wheens, before setting out for London, with the consciousness of his worth.
Yet he was only born to follow, and his chance of making a noise in the world rested on his meeting a stronger than himself.

During his summer vacations he had weaved sufficient money to keep himself during the winter on porridge and potatoes.
Clarrie was beautiful and all that.
"We'll say no more about it, then," the minister said after a pause.
"The matter," replied Andrew, "cannot be dismissed in that way.
Reasonable or not, I do undoubtedly experience sensations similar to Clarrie's.

But in my love I notice a distinct ebb and flow.

There are times when I don't care a hang for her." "Andrew!" "I beg your pardon.