Robin looked at him with angry eyes, and turned his back on him without a word.
“Hoot, man Saunners! There is no fear o’ the laddie,” said his more hopeful crony, Peter Gilchrist.
“Maybe no, and maybe ay. It’ll be nae haflin course that yon lad will tak’. He’ll do verra well or verra ill, and I see no signs o’ grace in him so far.”
“Dinna bode ill o’ the lad. The Lord’ll hae the son o’ his father and mother in His good keeping. And there’s John Beaton, forby (besides), to hae an e’e upon him. No’ but that there will be mony temptations in the toon for a lad like him,” added Peter, desirous to avoid any discussion with his friend.
“John Beaton, say ye? I doubt he’ll need himsel’ all the help the Lord is like to give to ane that’s neither cauld nor het. It’s wi’ stumblin’ steps he’ll gang himsel’, if I’m no mista’en.”
But to this Peter had nothing to say. They had been over the ground before, and more than once, and each had failed to convince the other. Crombie went on:
“He carries his head ower-heich (over-high), yon lad. He’s nae likely to see the stanes at his ain feet, to say naething o’ being a help to the like o’ Robert Hume.”
“Hae ye had ony words wi’ him of late?” asked Peter gravely.
“Nae me! He’s been here often eneuch. But except in the kirk, where he sits glowerin’ straecht afore him, as gin there was naebody worthy o’ a glance within the four walls, I havena set my een upon him. It’s inborn pride that ails him, or else he has gotten something no’ canny upon his mind.”
“His mother’s no’ just so strong. It’s that which brings him hame sae often. His heart is just set on his mother.”