“Lord bless me!” cried the old man, and came close up to him.—“But na!” he resumed, and stepped a pace back, “somebody’s been tellin ye!”
Cosmo gave him no answer. He stood a moment expecting one, then broke out in a rage.
“What for mak ye nae answer whan a body speirs ye a queston? That wasna mainners whan I was a bairn. Lord! ye micht as weel be ceevil! Isna it easy eneuch to lee?”
“I would answer no man who was not prepared to believe me,” said Cosmo quietly.
The dignity of his English had far more effect on the man than the friendliness of their mother-tongue.
“Maybe ye wadna objec’ to mak mention by name o’ the toon nearest to ye whan ye was at hame?” said the old man, and from his altered manner and tone Cosmo felt he might reply.
“It was ca’d Muir o’ Warlock,” he answered.
“Lord, man! come into the hoose. Ye maun be sair in need o’ something to put intil ye! A’ the gait frae Muir o’ Warlock! A toonsman o’ my ain! Scotlan’ ’s a muckle place—but Muir o’ Warlock! Guid guide ’s! Come in, man; come in!”
So saying he took the spade from Cosmo’s hands, threw it down with a contemptuous cast, and led the way towards the house.
The old man had a heart after all! Strange the power of that comparatively poor thing, local association, to bring to light the eternal love at the root of the being! Wonderful sign also of the presence of God wherever a child may open eyes! This man’s heart was not yet big enough to love a Scotsman, but it was big enough to love a Muir-o’-Warlock-man; and was not that a precious beginning? —a beginning as good as any? It matters nothing where or how one begins, if only one does begin! There are many, doubtless, who have not yet got farther in love than their own family; but there are others who have learned that for the true heart there is neither Frenchman nor Englishman, neither Jew nor Greek, neither white nor black—only the sons and daughters of God, only the brothers and sisters of the one elder brother. There may be some who have learned to love all the people of their own planet, but have not yet learned to look with patience upon those of Saturn or Mercury; while others there must be, who, wherever there is a creature of God’s making, love each in its capacity for love—from the arch-angel before God’s throne, to the creeping thing he may be compelled to destroy—from the man of this earth to the man of some system of worlds which no human telescope has yet brought within the ken of heaven-poring sage. And to that it must come with every one of us, for not until then are we true men, true women—the children, that is, of him in whose image we are made.