"Who? Oh, yes—that's Harvey. You're right, Mr. Nickle; the grass doesn't grow very green under Harvey's feet. He works for me, you know—does a little drivin' between four and six."
"Did ye hear aboot the minister, David? He was sair vexed wi' Mr. Craig; he went till him, ye ken, to get a wee bit help for the laddie's mither—her eyesicht's failin', it seems. An' Mr. Craig wudna gie him onythin'."
David was busy kicking to pieces a slab of dead wood at his feet. "That man Craig makes me mad," he said warmly—"thinks he owns the earth 'cause he's got a little money. He got the most of it from his father, anyhow—he hasn't got brains enough himself to make his head ache. An' it looks like the young cub's goin' to be a chip o' the old block; you can see it stickin' right out of him now," he declared, nodding towards the blustering Cecil, who was flinging his orders here and there.
"I was thinkin' ower the maitter, David," the old man went on quietly; "I was thinkin' mebbe I micht gie the puir buddy a wee bit help mysel'—I hae a wee bit siller, ye ken, an' I haena vera muckle to dae wi't. Div ye think ye cud see aboot it, David?—aboot sendin' his mither till the city doctor, ye ken? I cud gie the money to yirsel', an' naebody need ken aboot it but us twa." Poor Geordie looked half ashamed as he made the offer; such is the fashion of his kind.
"It's mighty clever of you," David answered, smiling a little curiously, "and I'd be terrible glad to fix it for you—only I happen to know it's fixed already. Just found that out to-day. A fellow sent the money to them—some fellow that doesn't want any one to know. But it's just as good of you, all the same, Mr. Nickle."
"Oh, aye, aye, I ken," Geordie responded enigmatically, "aye—juist that."
"Yes, he's a mighty smart boy," David resumed quickly, to hide a little embarrassment. "He works like a beaver all day; steady as a clock and bright as a dollar. It's a darned shame he hasn't got a better chance—that boy'd be heard from yet if he got some eddication," he concluded, opening the big blade of his jack-knife and beginning operations on a leafy limb he had just broken off.
Geordie's face was full of sympathetic interest. "Div ye ken, David, I've been thinkin' the same aboot the laddie. Dr. Fletcher tellt me aboot him first—an' I've been enquirin', an' watchin' him a wee bit in a canny kind o' a way, since the nicht he jined the kirk. An' I've got a wee bit plan, David—I've got a wee bit plan."
"Yes, Mr. Nickle?" David responded encouragingly, throwing away the leafy limb and sitting squarely round.
"It's no' quite a fittin' time to mak ony promises," the cautious Scotchman went on, seeing that David expected him to continue. "But ye ken, David, I hae neither wife nor bairns noo; they're a' wi' God," he added, bowing reverently, "an' yon laddie kind o' minds me o' wee Airchie—Airchie died wi' the scarlet fever. An' I've been thinkin', David, I've been thinkin' I never spent the siller that wud hae gone for Airchie's schoolin'. Ye ken, David, div ye no'?"