“Whoever does the thing he is told to do—the thing, that is, that has a plain ought in it, will become satisfied that there is one who will not forget to tell him what must be done as soon as he is fit to do it.”
The conversation lasted only while Donal ate his breakfast, with the little fellow standing beside him; it was soon over, but not soon to be forgotten. For the readiness of the boy to do what his master told him, was beautiful—and a great help and comfort, sometimes a rousing rebuke to his master, whose thoughts would yet occasionally tumble into one of the pitfalls of sorrow.
“What!” he would say to himself, “am I so believed in by this child, that he goes at once to do my words, and shall I for a moment doubt the heart of the Father, or his power or will to set right whatever may have seemed to go wrong with his child!—Go on, Davie! You are a good boy; I will be a better man!”
But naturally, as soon as lessons were over, he fell again to thinking what could have befallen him the night before. At what point did the aberration begin? The earl must have taken notice of it, for surely Simmons had not given Davie those injunctions of himself—except indeed he had exposed his condition even to him! If the earl had spoken to Simmons, kindness seemed intended him; but it might have been merely care over the boy! Anyhow, what was to be done?
He did not ponder the matter long. With that directness which was one of the most marked features of his nature, he resolved at once to request an interview with the earl, and make his apologies. He sought Simmons, therefore, and found him in the pantry rubbing up the forks and spoons.
“Ah, Mr. Grant,” he said, before Donal could speak, “I was just coming to you with a message from his lordship! He wants to see you.”
“And I came to you,” replied Donal, “to say I wanted to see his lordship!”
“That’s well fitted, then, sir!” returned Simmons. “I will go and see when. His lordship is not up, nor likely to be for some hours yet; he is in one of his low fits this morning. He told me you were not quite yourself last night.”
As he spoke his red nose seemed to examine Donal’s face with a kindly, but not altogether sympathetic scrutiny.
“The fact is, Simmons,” answered Donal, “not being used to wine, I fear I drank more of his lordship’s than was good for me.”