Donal Grant

which he knew every winding as well as any boy his half-mile to and from school. But he had never before gone down the hill with th

a care, the next thing to an evil spirit, though not quite so bad; for on

rry in the eyes of the happy man, but sadly solemn in the eyes of him in whose heart the dreary thoughts of the past are at a li

his departure they had been forgotten. He sat down and took off the failing equipment. It was too far gone to do anything temporary with it; and of discomforts a loose sole to one's shoe in walking is of the worst. The only thing was to take off the other shoe and both stockings and go barefoot. He tied all together with a piece of string, made them fas

'e my feet a turn at the auld accomplishment. It's a pity to grow nae so fit f

in work, he has to learn that he must trust in nothing but strength-the self-existent, original strength only; and Donal Grant had long begun to learn that. The man has begun to be strong who knows that, separated from life essential, he is weakness itself, that, one with his origin, he will be of strength inexhaustible. Donal was now descending the heights of youth to walk along the king's highroad of manhood: happy he who, as his sun is going down behind the western, is himself ascen

t noon came to a hamlet where no one knew him-a cluster of straw-roofed cottages, low and white, with two little windows each. He walked straight through it not meaning to stop; but, spyin

f the cottage, looked at him for a moment, and probably t

like a

Donal, "-a drink o' wa

milk?" aske

to pey for 't,"

oined, perceiving his drift a

nae milk," r

for 't gien ye l

a like," re

ome queer custom

sted, looking in her face with a smile; "an' watter has aye been gratis s

ut again presently with a delft basin, holdin

aid; "drink an

e to tak for naething what I can pey for, an' I dinna like to lay oot my siller upon a l

love o' God,"

rom her hand, and dra

a drap mair

aybe no jist forty days, gudewife, but mair nor forty minutes, an' that's a gude pair

and stood up refres

ye spak o'," said the woman: "gien ye hadna ta

urned Donal. "The Lord gie ye back yer sodger laddie safe a

uid to hear a man 'at un'erstan's things say them plain oot i' the tongue his mither taucht him. Sic a ane 'ill g

yin' that," remarked Donal. "Ye

ye doon oot o' the sin,

the day, an' I thank ye," rep

t fo

at I'm in a hurry as

un' for, gien a

rk set me. I'm feart to say that straucht oot; I haena won sae far as that yet. I winna du naething though 'at he wadna hae

t, I'm thinkin'! There canna b

," answered Donal.

; an' to see he

ees her be sic

ent throu' a' the country for a God-fearin

the tramp, lu

ye be pleast

cation o' what I hae

i' ye: tak na ilka lass ye see for a born angel. Misdoobt her a wee to begin w

e, in which the woman spied the sadne

him pitifull

again," she said, "ye'

hing her good-bye with a grateful h

oor. He sat down on a big stone, and began to turn th

an a man gang on livin'! Yet I'm no deid-that's what maks the diffeeclety o' the situation! Gien I war deid-weel, I kenna what than! I doobt there wad be trible still, though some thi

e lass to be considert! 'Cause he seesna fit to gie me her I wad hae, is he no to hae his wull o' me? It's a gran' thing to ken a lassie like yon, an' a gran'er thing yet to be allooed to lo'e her: to sit down an' greit 'cause I'm no to merry her, wad be most oongratefu'! What for sud I threip 'at I oucht to hae her? What for sudna I be disapp'intit as weel as anither? I hae as guid a richt to ony guid 'at's to come o' that, I fancy! Gien it be a man's pairt to cairry a sair hert, it canna be his pairt to sit doon wi' 't upo' the ro'd-side, an' lay't upo' his lap, an' gr

took the stroke! An' gien throu' this hert-brak I come by mair life, it'll be jist ane o' the throes o' my h'avenly birth-i'

at-like ane o' thae dreams o' watter an' munelicht 'at has nae wark i' them: a body wadna lie a' nicht an' a' day tu in a dream o' the sowl's gloamin'! Na, Lord; mak o' me a strong man, a

the en' o' 't. Whan I was a bairn, jist able, wi' sair endeevour, to win at the hert o' print, I never wad luik on afore! The ae time I did it, I thoucht I had dune a shamefu' thing, like luikin' in at a keyhole-as I did jist ance tu, whan I thank God my mither gae me sic a blessed lickin' 'at I

ife move past him like a panorama. He also is a fool who would lay hands on its motion, and change its p

at it should please God to make him. The scents the wind brought him from field and garden and moor, seemed sweeter than ever wind-borne scents before: they were seeking to comfort him! He sighed-but turned from the sigh to God, and found fresh gladness and welcome. The wind hovered about him as if it would fain have something to do in the matter; the river rippled and shone as if it knew something worth knowing as yet unrevealed. The delight of creation is verily in secrets, but in secrets as truths on the w

e things real to us, is the end and the battle-cause of life. We often think we believe what we are only presenting to our imaginations. The least thing can overthrow that kind of faith. The imagination is an endless help towards faith, but it is no more faith than a dream of food will make us

r an honest thing, he may use honest endeavour to obtain it. Donal desired to be useful and live for his generation, also to be with books. To be where was a good library would suit him better than buying books, for without a place in which to keep them, they are among the impedimenta of life. And Donal knew that in regard to books he was in danger of loving after the fashion of this world: boo

of a great library in some old house, so as day after day to feast on the thoughts of men who had gone before him