“Yon store-keepin' chiel.” Then she added, “But ye're done wi' him and his tricks, and ye'll stand up against him and be a man for the wee laddies.”
“Oh, I don't know,” said Hughie, too sick at heart and too penetrated with the miserable sense of his own meanness and cowardice, to make any promise.
“And as tae ye're mither, laddie,” went on Mrs. Finch, “it will be a sair burden for her.” When Mrs. Finch was greatly moved she always dropped into her broadest Scotch.
“Oh, yes, I know,” said Hughie, his voice now broken with sobs, “and that's the worst of it. If I didn't have to tell her! She'll just break her heart, I know. She thinks I'm so—oh, oh—” The long pent up feelings came flooding forth in groans and sobs.
For some moments Mrs. Finch sat quietly, and then she said, “Listen, laddie. There is Another to be thought of first.”
“Another?” asked Hughie. “Oh, yes, I know. But He knows already, and indeed I have often told Him. But besides, you say He will forget, and take it away. But mother doesn't know, and doesn't suspect.”
“Well, then, laddie,” said Mrs. Finch, with quiet firmness, “let her tell ye what to do. Mak ye're offer to tell her, and warn her that it'll grieve ye baith, and then let her say.”
“Yes, I'll do it. I'll do it to-night, and if she says so, then I'll tell her.”
And so he did, and when he came back to the Finch's on Monday morning, for his mother saw that leaving school for a time would be no serious loss, and a week or two with the Finches might be a great gain, he came radiant to Mrs. Finch, and finding her in her chair by the open window alone, he burst forth, “I told her, and she wouldn't let me. She didn't want to know so long as I said it was all made right. And she promised she would trust me just the same. Oh, she's splendid, my mother! And she's coming this week to see you. And I tell you I just feel like—like anything! I can't keep still. I'm like Fido when he's let off his chain. He just goes wild.”
Then, after a pause, he added, in a graver tone, “And mother read Zaccheus to me. And isn't it fine how He never said a word to him?”—Hughie was too excited to be coherent—“but stood up for him, and”—here Hughie's voice became more grave—“I'm going to restore fourfold. I'm going to work at the hay, and I fired that old pistol into the pond, and I'm not afraid of Foxy any more, not a bit.”