“And what may you have to do with it?” asked the old man.
“As to that, indeed,” replied Long John, coolly, “I am not yet quite sure. But if I might ask without being too bold, what is the particular duty to which you are referring?”
“You may ask, and you and all have a right to know, for I am about to visit upon my son his sins and shame.”
“And is it meaning to wheep him you are?”
“Ay,” said the old man, and his lips came fiercely together.
“Indeed, then, you will just do no such thing this morning.”
“And by what right do you interfere in my domestic affairs?” demanded old Donald, with dignity. “Answer me that, Mr. Cameron.”
“Right or no right,” replied Long John, “before any man lays a finger on Thomas there, he will need to begin with myself. And,” he added, grimly, “there are not many in the county who would care for that job.”
Old Donald Finch looked at his visitor in speechless amazement. At length Long John grew excited.
“Man alive!” he exclaimed, “it's a quare father you are. You may be thinking it disgrace, but the section will be proud that there is a boy in it brave enough to stand up for the weak against a brute bully.” And then he proceeded to tell the tale as he had heard it from Don, with such strong passion and such rude vigor, that in spite of himself old Donald found his rage vanish, and his heart began to move within him toward his son.