“Yes, sir. And I told him to mind what he was about; for he was not a gentleman, and you was, sir.”
“I hope I am. And Tom is as much a gentleman as I have any claim to be.”
Thomas Weir held out his hand.
“Now, sir, I do believe you mean in my shop what you say in your pulpit; and there is ONE Christian in the world at least.—But what will your good lady say? She’s higher-born than you—no offence, sir.”
“Ah, Thomas, you shame me. I am not so good as you think me. It was my wife that brought me to reason about it.”
“God bless her.”
“Amen. I’m going to find Tom.”
At the same moment Tom entered the shop, with a very melancholy face. He started when he saw me, and looked confused.
“Tom, my boy,” I said, “I behaved very badly to you. I am sorry for it. Come back with me, and have a walk with my sister. I don’t think she’ll be sorry to see you.”
His face brightened up at once, and we left the shop together. Evidently with a great effort Tom was the first to speak.