“My name’s Lauderdale; that’s easy settled,” said the stranger; “tell the honest woman; what’s her name?—I’ll do it for you. Mrs. Fergus, my young friend here is going to dinner with me. He’ll be back, by-and-by, to his studies; and, in the meantime,” said Colin’s self-constituted guardian, putting the lad before him, and pausing in the passage to speak to the widow, who regarded his great height and strange appearance with a little curiosity, “take you charge of his gown; put it up the chimney, or give it a good wash out with soap and soda; it’s too grand for Glasgow College; the sooner it comes to be like this,” said the gigantic visitor, holding up his own, which was of a dingy portwine colour, “the better for the boy.”
And then Colin found himself again walking along the Glasgow streets, in the murky, early twilight of that November afternoon, with this strange unknown figure which was leading him he knew not whither. Was it a good or a bad angel which had thus taken possession of the fresh life and unoccupied mind? Colin could not resist the fascination which was half dislike and half admiration. He went along quietly by the side of the tall student, who kept delivering over his head that flood of monotonous talk. The boy grew interested even in the talk before they had gone far, and went on, a little anxious about his dinner, but still more curious concerning the companion with whom Fate had provided him so soon.
CHAPTER VI.
“No that I mean to say I believe in fate,” said Lauderdale, when they had finished their meal; “though there is little doubt in my mind that what happens is ordained. I couldna tell why, for my part, though I believe in the fact—for most things in life come to nothing, and the grandest train of causes produce nae effect whatsoever; that’s my experience. Indeed, it’s often a wonder to me,” said the homely philosopher, who was not addressing himself particularly to Colin, “what the Almighty took the trouble to make man for at a’. He’s a poor creature at the best, and gives an awfu’ deal of trouble for very little good. Considering all things, I’m of opinion that we’re little better than an experiment,—and very likely we’ve been greatly improved upon in mair recent creations. Are you pleased with your dinner? You’re young now, and canna’ have much standing against you in the great books. Do you ever think, laddie, of what you mean to be?”
“I mean to be a minister,” said Colin, with a furious blush. His thoughts on the subject, if he could but have expressed them, were magnificent enough, but nothing was more impossible to the shy country lad, than to explain the ambition which glowed in his eager, visionary mind. He would have sacrificed a finger at any time, rather than talk of the vague but splendid intentions which were fermenting secretly in absolute silence within his reserved Scotch bosom. His new friend looked with a little curiosity at the subdued brightness of the boy’s eyes, which spoke more emphatically than his words.
“They a’ mean to be ministers,” said Lauderdale, in his reflective way; “half of them would do far better to be cobblers; but nae fool could ever be persuaded. As for you, I think there’s something in you, or I wouldna have fashed my head about you and your gown. You’ve got a fair start, and nae drawbacks. I would like to see you go straight forward, and be good for something in your generation. You needna look glum at me; I’ll never be good for much mysel’. You see I’ve learnt to be fond of talking,” he said, philosophically; “and a man that takes up that line early in life seldom comes to much good; though I grant you there’s exceptions, like Macaulay, for example. I was just entered at college, when my father died,” he continued, falling into a historical strain, “I was only a laddie like yoursel’, but I had to give up that thought, and work to help the rest. Now they are all scattered, and my mother dead, and I’m my own master. No that I’m much the better for that; but, you see, after I got this situation”——
“What situation?” said Colin, quickly.
“Oh, an honourable occupation,” said his tall friend, with a gradually brightening smile. “There’s ane of the same trade mentioned with commendation in the Acts of the Apostles. Him and St. Paul were great friends. But you see I’m free for the most part of the day; and, it being a fixed idea in my mind that I was to go to the college some time or other, it was but natural that I should enter mysel’ as soon as I was able. I may go forward, and I may not; it depends on the world more than on me. So your name’s Colin Campbell?—the same as Sir Colin; but, if you’re to be a minister, you can never be anything mair than a minister. In any other line of life a lad can rise if he likes, but there’s nae promotion possible to that. If I were you, and fifteen, I would choose another trade.”
“To this Colin answered nothing; the suggestion staggered him considerably, and he was not prepared with anything to say. He looked round the shabby room, and watched the shabby tavern-waiter carrying his dinner to some other customer; and Colin’s new and unaccustomed eyes saw something imposing even in the aspect of this poor place. He thought of the great world which seemed to surge outside in a ceaseless roar, coming and going—the world in which all sorts of honours and powers seemed to go begging, seeking owners worthy to possess them: and he was pursuing this splendid chain of possibilities, when Lauderdale resumed his monologue:—
“The Kirk’s in a queer kind of condition a’thegither,” said the tall student; “so are most Kirks. Whenever you hit upon a man that kens what he wants, all’s well; but that happens seldom. It’s no my case for one. And as for you, you’re no at the age to trouble your head about doctrine. You’re a young prince at your years—you don’t know your privileges; you believe everything you’ve been brought up to believe, and are far more sure in your own mind what’s false and what’s true than a college of doctors. I would rather be you than a’ the philosophers in the world.”