“Yes,” said his cousin gravely, after a moment’s hesitation; “but oh, lad, I have many sad things to mind, and sinful things, too. All these years cannot be blotted out nor forgotten.”
“But they are past, Cousin Hugh, and forgiven, and in one sense blotted out. There is nothing of them left that need hinder you from being happy here again.”
“Ah, well, that may be. God is good. But I was thinking of something else when I spoke first. I was thinking that I am not a farmer.”
“But you can learn to be one. It’s easy enough.”
“I am afraid I should not find it easy. I am afraid I should not do justice to the place. It spoils one for a quiet life, to be knocked about in the world as I have been. And I know I could never make my mother happy if I were discontented myself; at least, if she knew of my discontent.”
“She would be sure to see it. You couldn’t hide it from her, if discontent was in your heart. My aunt doesn’t say much, but she sees clearly. But why should you not be happy here? I can’t understand it.”
“No; I trust you may never be able to understand it. Archie, lad, it is one of the penalties of an evil life that it changes the nature, so that the love of pure and simple pleasures, which it drives away, has but a small chance of coming back again, even when the life is amended. It is a sad experience.”
“But an evil life, Cousin Hugh! You should not say that,” said Archie sorrowfully.
“Well, what would you have? A life of disobedience to one’s mother, ten years of forgetfulness—no, not forgetfulness, but neglect of her. Surely that cannot be called other than an evil life. And it bears its fruit.”
There was a long pause; and then Archie said: