"I'm going to learn to be a big man," he told his mother proudly on the last evening, "and Mr. Malony says I'll soon be able to shoe a horse. And, O mother," he added, rather sadly, "shoeing horses is a fine thing, but I would rather be a Highland soldier and wear a feather bonnet, like what father wears in his picture."
"Dear boy," replied his mother, "we must all try to do our duty in the line of life God has appointed us to."
* * * * *
Mrs. Malony had a friend who was skipper of a small sailing schooner. Old Skipper Ross used to pride himself in the beauty and sailing qualities of his little craft, and had rebaptized her Queen of the Clyde.
When this honest, red-faced seaman heard the story of poor Mrs. Mackenzie, he took his pipe from his mouth, and his face puckered with smiles under the blue Kilmarnock night-cap he always wore.
"Dear Mrs. Malony," he said, "instead of the puir lady gaun doon the Clyde in a smoke-jack steam-boat, I'll tak her mysel'. Splinter my jib-boom if I dinna."
This was very good of the skipper, and Mrs. Malony gladly accepted the offer.
Malony himself got a day off. They were all to go down the Clyde together, and make a kind of pleasure-trip of it. They would even take Little Peter with them, to give them music during the voyage.
Well, it wasn't very often that a cab was seen to draw up at 73 Summer Loaning, so when the jarvey stopped and turned his horse at the "close mou',"* young and old flocked out and lined the pavement. When the poor wan invalid was got inside, many a rough voice wished her God-speed, and they even raised a cheer as the cab drove off and away.
* Mouth of the court.