Maitland spread before him the letter which his father had received that morning. The Reverend Murdo read it carefully over, then, with a sigh of relief, he said: “Well, it might be worse. There should not be much difficulty in coming to an agreement between people anxious for peace.”
After an hour spent in canvassing the subject from various points of view, the Reverend Murdo exclaimed: “Let us go and see McNish.”
“The very thing,” said Maitland. “I have been trying to get in touch with him for the last month or so, but he avoids me.”
“Ay,” replied the Reverend Murdo, “he has a reason, no doubt.”
To Maitland's joy they found McNish at home. They were received with none-too-cordial a welcome by the son, with kindly, even eager greeting by the mother.
“Come awa in, Minister; come awa, Mr. Maitland. You have come to talk about the 'trouble,' a doot. Malcolm does-na want to talk about it to me, a bad sign. He declines to converse even, wi' me, Mr. Matheson. Perhaps ye may succeed better wi' him.”
“Mr. Matheson can see for himself,” said her son, using his most correct English, “the impropriety of my talking with an employer in this way.”
“Nonsense, McNish,” said the minister briskly. “You know me quite well and we both know Maitland. It is just sheer nonsense to say that you cannot talk with us. Everyone in town is talking. Every man in your union is talking, trying to justify their present position, which, I am bound to say, takes some justifying.”
“Why?” asked McNish hotly.
“Because the demands are some of them quite unsound. Some other than you had a hand in drawing up your Petition of Right, McNish, and some of the demands are impossible.”