Scotty's defiant air changed to one of amazement; his eyes fell, he felt suddenly ashamed.
"I hope you will accept an explanation, though it does not at all atone for what I said," continued the schoolmaster earnestly. "I am truly ashamed of myself for making such a stupid blunder."
Scotty squirmed in embarrassment. He had never in his life witnessed any such dignified reparation of a wrong, and in contrast, his own late conduct looked childish and almost barbarous.
"Oh, it will not matter, whatever," he stammered abruptly, and in a manner much more ungracious than his feelings warranted.
"But it does matter very much. It was no way for one man to speak to another."
Scotty experienced a glow of mingled pride and shame; the new master considered him a man then, and he had not played the man's part! "But, you see," continued Monteith, "I felt so sure. It was your Highland accent, and your—your general MacDonald appearance that to my ignorance made your statement unbelievable."
The schoolmaster had unwittingly struck the right chord.
Scotty smiled shyly but amicably. "Oh, it will be jist nothing," he said generously.
"Won't you shake hands, then, and let me feel I am quite forgiven?"
But Scotty did not put out his hand; he stood shifting from one foot to the other, looking down at the heap of chips.