I seemed to see in
his history a sad presage of my own. If he, stronger, more self-restrained,
more righteous far than ever I could be, had died thus unknown, unassisted,
in the stern battle with social disadvantages, what must be my lot?
And tears of sympathy, rather than of selfish fear, fell fast upon the
book.
A harsh voice from the inner darkness of the shop startled me.
"Hoot, laddie, ye'll better no spoil my books wi' greeting ower them."
I replaced the book hastily, and was hurrying on, but the same voice called
me back in a more kindly tone.
"Stop a wee, my laddie. I'm no angered wi' ye. Come in, and we'll just ha'
a bit crack thegither."
I went in, for there was a geniality in the tone to which I was
unaccustomed, and something whispered to me the hope of an adventure, as
indeed it proved to be, if an event deserves that name which decided the
course of my whole destiny.
"What war ye greeting about, then? What was the book?"
"'Bethune's Life and Poems,' sir," I said. "And certainly they did affect
me very much."
"Affect ye? Ah, Johnnie Bethune, puir fellow! Ye maunna take on about sic
like laddies, or ye'll greet your e'en out o' your head.
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