CHAPTER XVI.
THE ORGAN.
One little matter I forgot to mention as having been talked about between Dr Duncan and myself that same evening. I happened to refer to Old Rogers.
“What a fine old fellow that is!” said Dr Duncan.
“Indeed he is,” I answered. “He is a great comfort and help to me. I don’t think anybody but myself has an idea what there is in that old man.”
“The people in the village don’t quite like him, though, I find. He is too ready to be down upon them when he sees things going amiss. The fact is, they are afraid of him.”
“Something as the Jews were afraid of John the Baptist, because he was an honest man, and spoke not merely his own mind, but the mind of God in it.”
“Just so. I believe you’re quite right. Do you know, the other day, happening to go into Weir’s shop to get him to do a job for me, I found him and Old Rogers at close quarters in an argument? I could not well understand the drift of it, not having been present at the beginning, but I soon saw that, keen as Weir was, and far surpassing Rogers in correctness of speech, and precision as well, the old sailor carried too heavy metal for the carpenter. It evidently annoyed Weir; but such was the good humour of Rogers, that he could not, for very shame, lose his temper, the old man’s smile again and again compelling a response on the thin cheeks of the other.”
“I know how he would talk exactly,” I returned. “He has a kind of loving banter with him, if you will allow me the expression, that is irresistible to any man with a heart in his bosom. I am very glad to hear there is anything like communion begun between them. Weir will get good from him.”
“My man-of-all-work is going to leave me. I wonder if the old man would take his place?”
“I do not know whether he is fit for it. But of one thing you may be sure—if Old Rogers does not honestly believe he is fit for it, he will not take it. And he will tell you why, too.”