“She trusts me just as other folk do, who have kent me tell few lies all my lifetime,” said Uncle Sandy, “but as for more than this, Harry, Jean Calder trusts no man. Well, I’ll tell her—I would not choose the office, but since you ask me, I’ll tell her, Harry, and put it before her in the best way I can. That you should have occupation, is a good thought; and it’s well too to increase your substance—well, my man, well; but you’ll need to be eident, and keep an eye yourself on every thing—and even, Harry, you’ll need to learn.”
“Oh, yes, I’ll learn,” said Harry, “but the money, uncle, is the important thing—there will be little difficulty with the rest.”
The old man shook his head.
“Have more regard to the difficulties, Harry—if you do so, you’ll overcome them better; for mind ye, siller is sometimes maister, but he’s easier to subdue and put your foot upon, than such things as heart and mind and conscience. Harry, be canny; God sometimes appoints us a hard school when we are slow of the uptake in an easy one. But you need not gloom—auld men get license of advising, and ye mind how the cottar ‘mixes a’ with admonition due.’”
“Yes,” said Harry laughing, “I am fated to have counsellors—for yonder is our old Dragon who has no objection to give me the benefit of his experience too.”
Alexander Muir slightly erected his white head with a single throb of injured feeling; for with all his natural and gracious humility, he did not choose to come down to the level of the poor old Dragon of Allenders; but when a considerable silence followed, and Harry walking by his side with a sullen gloom contracting the lines of his face, made violent dashes now and then at groups of frightened poppies, or at the lordly resistant thistle, the old man was the first to speak—for his anxious friends could not venture to offend this indulged and wayward Harry.
“The rough bur thistle spreading wide
Amang the bearded bear—”
said the old man quietly, “aye, Harry, my man, there were fine thoughts in that grand castaway; and a sore thing it is to see how little great gifts avail, and what shipwrecks folk may make with them—if this were anything but the avenue and porch of the great lifetime, which we forget so easy! I’ve been of little use myself, Harry, in my day and generation—little use but to comfort the hearts of bairns, and give them now and then an hour’s sunshine and pleasance—but you’re better gifted both in mind and estate than I ever was. I make ye my depute, Harry, to do better service to God and man than me.”
Oh, gentle, righteous heart! a sudden impulse of humility and tenderness came upon Harry Muir’s impressible spirit. Better service! yet this old man seemed to have lived for no other conscious end, than the service of God and man.