During the meal, Mr Butler talked fluently enough on many subjects; but when the dinner was fairly over, and Mrs Blair and Lilias sat still, evidently waiting to hear what he had to say, he seemed strangely at a loss for words, and broke down several times in making a beginning. At last he said:
“Well, Mrs Blair, the short and the long of it is this. I have a favour to ask from you. You see, it’s dull enough down at my house at this time of the year, and I find it long sitting by myself when the bairns have gone home. I have a certain solace in my books, it’s true; but I begin to think there is some sense in the wise man’s declaration, that ‘much study is a weariness to the flesh.’ At any rate, it comes to that at my time of life. So I wish you would spare that laddie of yours to me for awhile, and I’ll promise you that what will be for my good will not be for his ill. That’s what I have to say.”
There was a moment’s silence; and then Mrs Blair thanked him for his proposal, and for the manner in which it had been made. It was very kind in him, she said, to put the matter in that way, as though the obligation would be on his side. But it would be a great interruption to the quiet which she knew he valued so much, to have a lad like Archie always coming and going about him, and she doubted whether it would be right to accept his generous offer; though she feared the short days and the distance by the road would keep Archie away from the school for a few weeks at least. The master listened with great attention, and said:
“To your first remark, Mrs Blair, ma’am, with all due deference, I must say, I put it in that light because it’s the true light, and I see not well how I could put it in any other. And as for his being an interruption, if I should find him so at any time I would but to bid him hold his peace or go to his bed, or I could send him over to the manse to Davie yonder. He’ll be no interruption to him, I’ll warrant. And as to his biding at home, it must by no means be. He has just got well begun in more things than one, and there is no saying what might be the effect of putting a stop to it all. He might not take to his books so well again. Not that I think that, either; but it would be an awful pity to hinder him. He’ll do himself and me credit yet, if he has the chance.”
Lilias smiled at these praises of her brother, and Mrs Blair asked:
“Really and truly, Mr Butler, apart from your wish to help him for his father’s sake, do you wish for your own sake to have the boy to bide with you for awhile?”
“Really and truly for my own sake. I consider the obligation on my side. But just for the sake of argument, Mrs Blair, ma’am, we’ll suppose it to be otherwise. Do you mind the little house that once stood in Pentlands Park, and how many of my mother’s dark days your presence brightened there? And do you not mind, when I was a reckless laddie, well-nigh worsted in the battle of life, that first your father, and then your brother, took me by the hand and warded off the sore blows of poverty and neglect? And do you think I’m too bold in seeking an opportunity to show that I didn’t forget, though I can never repay? Is it too great a favour for me to ask, Mrs Blair?”
The master’s voice had nearly failed him more than once while he was speaking. He was very much in earnest; and to what he had said, Mrs Blair could have only one reply. Turning to Lilias, she said:
“Well, my dear, shall it be?”
The master had, with a few exceptions, a sort of friendly contempt for all womankind. With regard to “lassie bairns” there was no exception; and he was by no means pleased that the answer to his question should be referred to one of these. But Lilias’ answer appeased him.