"He was red with passion when his father finished speaking, and he answered quickly, 'I will not be a shipping clerk. No, sir! I will take the Queen's shilling and go to the army. Macraes have ever been fighters. I want no pen. I will have a sword. How can you ask me to be a clerk, Father? It is cruel! Too cruel!'"
"Poor Donald!"
"I think his father felt as much as he did. He could not speak until he saw the lad move his chair from the table. Then, in a very moderate voice, he said, 'Stay, Donald, and listen to me. Honor as well as prudence forbids you the army. You are the last male of our family, except your aged uncle and myself. Its continuation rests with you. It is a duty you would be a kind of traitor to ignore. After me, you are the Macrae. I know the world thinks little of the dead Highland clans, but we think none the less of ourselves because of the world's indifference. You will be the Macrae; you must marry, and raise up sons to keep the name alive. You cannot go to the army. You cannot put your life constantly in jeopardy. Until something more to your liking turns up, go to Reed and McBryne's. It is better than moping idly about the house.'"
"I think Father was right, Aunt."
"Donald did not think so. He left the table without a word, but I could see his father had fathomed him, and found out one weak spot. For as soon as he said, 'You will be the Macrae,' I saw the light that flashed into Donald's eyes, and the way in which he straightened himself to his full height. Then, bowing, he left the room without a yea or nay in his mouth. Immediately afterward he left the house, but he did not stay long, and then I had a straight talk with him. I knew where he had been in the interval."
"Where could he go but to you?"
"He has a friend."
"Matthew Ballantyne."
"Just so. The lads love each other, and they are both daft about the same thing—a violin. He went to Matthew, and Matthew told him to humor his father and bide his time, and he would get his own way in the long run."
"Did that please you, Aunt?"