LITMIR.BIZ

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your lordship," said Donal, "it is my turn to strike; and if you hit the animal again before that chain is slackened, I will pitch you out of the saddle."

      For answer Forgue struck the horse over the head. The same moment he was on the ground; Donal had taken him by the leg and thrown him off. He was not horseman enough to keep his hold of the reins, and Donal led the horse a little way off, and left him to get up in safety. The poor animal was pouring with sweat, shivering and trembling, yet throwing his head back every moment. Donal could scarcely undo the chain; it was twisted—his lordship had fastened it himself—and sharp edges pressed his jaw at the least touch of the rein. He had not yet rehooked it, when Forgue was upon him with a second blow of his whip. The horse was scared afresh at the sound, and it was all he could do to hold him, but he succeeded at length in calming him. When he looked about him, Forgue was gone. He led the horse into the stable, put him in his stall, and proceeded to unsaddle him. Then first he was re-aware of the presence of Davie. The boy was stamping—with fierce eyes and white face—choking with silent rage.

      "Davie, my child!" said Donal, and Davie recovered his power of speech.

      "I'll go and tell my father!" he said, and made for the stable door.

      "Which of us are you going to tell upon?" asked Donal with a smile.

      "Percy, of course!" he replied, almost with a scream. "You are a good man, Mr. Grant, and he is a bad fellow. My father will give it him well. He doesn't often—but oh, can't he just! To dare to strike you! I'll go to him at once, whether he's in bed or not!"

      "No, you won't, my boy! Listen to me. Some people think it's a disgrace to be struck: I think it a disgrace to strike. I have a right over your brother by that blow, and I mean to keep it—for his good. You didn't think I was afraid of him?"

      "No, no; anybody could see you weren't a bit afraid of him. I would have struck him again if he had killed me for it!"

      "I don't doubt you would. But when you understand, you will not be so ready to strike. I could have killed your brother more easily than held his horse. You don't know how strong I am, or what a blow of my fist would be to a delicate fellow like that. I hope his fall has not hurt him."

      "I hope it has—a little, I mean, only a little," said the boy, looking in the face of his tutor. "But tell me why you did not strike him. It would be good for him to be well beaten."

      "It will, I hope, be better for him to be well forgiven: he will be ashamed of himself the sooner, I think. But why I did not strike him was, that I am not my own master."

      "But my father, I am sure, would not have been angry with you. He would have said you had a right to do it."

      "Perhaps; but the earl is not the master I mean."

      "Who is, then?"

      "Jesus Christ."

      "O—oh!"

      "He says I must not return evil for evil, a blow for a blow. I don't mind what people say about it: he would not have me disgrace myself! He never even threatened those that struck him."

      "But he wasn't a man, you know!"

      "Not a man! What was he then?"

      "He was God, you know."

      "And isn't God a man—and ever so much more than a man?"

      The boy made no answer, and Donal went on.

      "Do you think God would have his child do anything disgraceful? Why, Davie, you don't know your own Father! What God wants of us is to be down-right honest, and do what he tells us without fear."

      Davie was silent. His conscience reproved him, as the conscience of a true-hearted boy will reprove him at the very mention of the name of God, until he sets himself consciously to do his will. Donal said no more, and they went for their walk.

      CHAPTER XVI.

      COLLOQUIES

      In the evening Donal went to see Andrew Comin.

      "Weel, hoo are ye gettin' on wi' the yerl?" asked the cobbler.

      "You set me a good example of saying nothing about him," answered Donal; "and I will follow it—at least till I know more: I have scarce seen him yet."

      "That's right!" returned the cobbler with satisfaction. "I'm thinkin' ye'll be ane o' the feow 'at can rule their ane hoose—that is, haud their ain tongues till the hoor for speech be come. Stick ye to that, my dear sir, an' mair i'll be weel nor in general is weel."

      "I'm come to ye for a bit o' help though; I want licht upon a queston 'at 's lang triblet me.—What think ye?—hoo far does the comman' laid upo' 's, as to warfare 'atween man an' man, reach? Are we never ta raise the han' to human bein', think ye?"

      "Weel, I hae thoucht a heap aboot it, an' I daurna say 'at I'm jist absolute clear upo' the maitter. But there may be pairt clear whaur a' 's no clear; an' by what we un'erstan' we come the nearer to what we dinna un'erstan'. There's ae thing unco plain—'at we're on no accoont to return evil for evil: onybody 'at ca's himsel' a Christian maun un'erstan' that muckle. We're to gie no place to revenge, inside or oot. Therefore we're no to gie blow for blow. Gien a man hit ye, ye're to take it i' God's name. But whether things mayna come to a p'int whaurat ye're bu'n', still i' God's name, to defen' the life God has gien ye, I canna say—I haena the licht to justifee me in denyin' 't. There maun surely, I hae said to mysel', be a time whan a man may hae to du what God dis sae aften—mak use o' the strong han'! But it's clear he maunna do 't in rage—that's ower near hate—an' hate 's the deevil's ain. A man may, gien he live varra near the Lord, be whiles angry ohn sinned: but the wrath o' man worketh not the richteousness o' God; an' the wrath that rises i' the mids o' encoonter, is no like to be o' the natur o' divine wrath. To win at it, gien 't be possible, lat's consider the Lord—hoo he did. There's no word o' him ever liftin' han' to protec' himsel'. The only thing like it was for ithers. To gar them lat his disciples alane—maybe till they war like eneuch til himsel' no to rin, he pat oot mair nor his han' upo' them 'at cam to tak him: he strak them sair wi' the pooer itsel' 'at muvs a' airms. But no varra sair naither—he but knockit them doon!—jist to lat them ken they war to du as he bade them, an' lat his fowk be;—an' maybe to lat them ken 'at gien he loot them tak him, it was no 'at he couldna hin'er them gien he likit. I canna help thinkin' we may stan' up for ither fowk. An' I'm no sayin' 'at we arena to defen' oorsels frae a set attack wi' design.—But there's something o' mair importance yet nor kennin' the richt o' ony queston."

      "What can that be? What can be o' mair importance nor doin' richt i' the sicht o' God?" said Donal.

      "Bein' richt wi' the varra thoucht o' God, sae 'at we canna mistak, but maun ken jist what he wad hae dune. That's the big Richt, the mother o' a' the lave o' the richts. That's to be as the maister was. Onygait, whatever we du, it maun be sic as to be dune, an' it maun be dune i' the name o' God; whan we du naething we maun du that naething i' the name o' God. A body may weel say, 'O Lord, thoo hasna latten me see what I oucht to du, sae I'll du naething!' Gien a man ought to defen' himsel', but disna du 't, 'cause he thinks God wadna hae him du 't, wull God lea' him oondefent for that? Or gien a body stan's up i' the name o' God, an' fronts an airmy o' enemies, div ye think God 'ill forsake him 'cause he 's made a mistak? Whatever's dune wantin' faith maun be sin—it canna help it; whatever's dune in faith canna be sin, though it may be a mistak. Only latna a man tak presumption for faith! that's a fearsome mistak, for it's jist the opposite."

      "I thank ye," said Donal. "I'll consider wi' my best endeevour what ye hae said."

      "But o' a' things," resumed the cobbler, "luik 'at ye lo'e fairplay. Fairplay 's a won'erfu' word—a gran' thing constantly lost sicht o'. Man, I hae been tryin' to win at the duin' o' the richt this mony a year, but I daurna yet lat mysel' ac' upo' the spur o' the moment whaur my ain enterest 's concernt: my ain side micht yet blin' me to the ither man's side o' the business. Onybody can un'erstan' his ain richt, but it taks trible an' thoucht to un'erstan' what anither coonts his richt. Twa richts canna weel clash. It's a wrang an' a richt, or pairt wrang an' a pairt richt 'at clashes."

      "Gien a'body did that, I doobt there wad be feow fortins made!" said Donal.

      "Aboot that I canna say, no kennin'; I daurna discover

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