“It wad ill set me to hae such thochts, sir. I hope you dinna put them to me.”
“The truth is, David, I have had a little trouble with my family. If you won’t mind my secrecy, I should prefer not to speak of it.”
“I hae naething to do wi’ your private affairs, sir. I wad think it the height o’ dishonor to mak’ any inquiry concerning them.”
Then the subject was readily turned, for David’s mind and imagination was full of the lovely and grand city in which he found himself. He had never been beyond the small fishing towns of Fife, and the ancient castle and palace, the fine terraces of handsome houses, the marching to and fro of soldiers, the streets and kirks made sacred by the sufferings of the Covenanters and the voice of Knox, filled his soul with unspeakable emotions. Glasgow, at first, almost terrified him. “It’s the City o’ Human Power,” he wrote to Maggie. “It is fu’ o’ hurrying crowds, and harsh alarms, and contentious noises. And the horses and the carriages! They are maist fearsome! Also the drivers o’ them are a fierce and insolent race o’ men; and I tak’ credit to mysel’, that I hae not been quite dumfounded wi’ the noise o’ it.”
Allan had a private interview with Professor Laird before he introduced David to him; and doubtless satisfactory arrangements were made, for David received a cordial welcome to his house. He had taken naturally to his black clothes; never for a moment had he felt or appeared out of place in them; and the professor, after a keen look at his new student, said in an aside to Allan—
“A born ecclesiastic, a natural theologian; where did you find him, Mr. Campbell?”
“Where Christ found some apostles, in the fishing boats. He will do, I think.”
“Do! He is one of those men who will walk up to fame as they would to a friend in their own home.”