I knew most of the inhabitants of the vale by sight, but the aspect of the individual in question was unknown to me. It was scarcely likely he could be a shepherd’s extra hand, for the washing and shearing time was over, and a tramp in the ordinary sense of the term would have been, to quote from the ornithologists, a ‘rare and occasional visitor.’ Besides, he had not the appearance of a tramp; he walked with an easy boldness, apparently playing with the child as he strolled, for as I drew nearer I could hear the child’s voice gleefully crying, ‘Again, again; do it again, funny man.’
As I drew nearer I looked at the stranger with interest, and noted that he was a well-made, active fellow, of good proportions. His face was slightly scarred, as though from small-pox, but not unpleasantly; it was as if the disease, suddenly repenting of spoiling a bright and healthful countenance, had incontinently left him for another victim.
His eyes blue, his teeth, splendidly regular, were clean and white as a hound’s. Glancing at the child, I discovered her to be Maggie, the six-year-old child of Tom Hedley, the herd at Fulhope Law, so I went straight up to her and asked for a kiss as usual. ‘No,’ said the diminutive flirt archly, holding her head backwards; ‘no kiss for zoo. I’s got a new man noo,’ and forthwith she buried her curls in his neck. ‘He’s a nice funny man,’ she continued in another moment, peeping forth from her hiding-place, ‘an’ he’s got nae mair hair on his heid than oor little puppy-dog at home.’
I glanced at her captor, and noting his cropped crown, jumped to a sure conclusion as to his identity. ‘Why, ’tis none other,’ thought I, ‘than the protégé.’ Possibly he read my thoughts; at any rate, releasing one arm, he lifted his hand to a salute, smiling, meanwhile, in the most affable way in the world. I nodded ‘Good afternoon,’ and learning that the minister was within and waiting my arrival, turned my steps to the house.
After our first greetings were over he commenced to apologize again for the limited space at my disposal, but he was certain that when once I had got to know his ‘protégé,’ I should think no more about it. ‘He is a beautiful character,’ he concluded enthusiastically, ‘one could tell that at a glance by the way in which children take to him.’
‘I met him outside just a moment ago,’ I replied, ‘and he certainly seems to have won little Maggie’s heart, but from my recollection of her half a dozen “sweeties” would explain that feat. And after all,’ I continued judicially, ‘some of the greatest ruffians that ever lived were extremely fond of children. There was Herod, of course, but he was the exception that proves the rule.’
‘Ah,’ sighed my friend, ‘that terrible London atmosphere! How it cankers the human affections! The theory of the law, I believe, is that every man should be considered innocent till he has been proved guilty; but you lawyers, reversing this in practice, hold every man guilty till he prove his innocence.’
‘How about his hair?’ I inquired rather unkindly.
‘His hair?’ my friend queried, with a puzzled expression. ‘Oh, I see what you mean,’ he continued almost immediately, endeavouring to shed a soupçon of a smile over his seriously earnest countenance. ‘But don’t notice that, please, or you may make him reckless. For now is the critical time,’ he added solemnly, with the professional manner of a physician making his diagnosis; ‘if he gets safely over this his cure may be regarded as practically assured.
‘The great thing is to believe in a man, to cultivate little by little his sense of self-respect; by “believing men to be better than they are,” one may even, as has been so well said, “make them better than they are.” In England we have always gone on a wrong principle; we worship success, worldly success, far too much, and have scant sympathy with the unfortunate. My friend outside says that he stole a leg of mutton for his starving daughter. The result is he cannot now get a situation, and his daughter has been taken from him, and is now in a home. Well, if the man be treated with contumely, he may very likely despair and give up all hope of improvement. Treat him well, on the other hand, and you may yet turn him into a useful citizen.’