Donal saw that he had got hold of a pair of originals: it was a joy to his heart: he was himself an original--one, namely, that lived close to the simplicities of existence!
Andrew Comin, before offering him house-room, would never have asked anyone what he was; but he would have thought it an equal lapse in breeding not to show interest in the history as well as the person of a guest. After a little more talk, so far from commonplace that the common would have found it mirth-provoking, the cobbler said:
"An' what office may ye haud yersel', sir, i' the ministry o' the temple?"
"I think I un'erstan' ye," replied Donal; "my mother says curious things like you."
"Curious things is whiles no that curious," remarked Andrew.
A pause following, he resumed:
"Gien onything gie ye reason to prefar waitin' till ye ken Doory an' me a bit better, sir," he said, "coont my ill-mainnert queston no speirt."
"There's naething," answered Donal. "I'll tell ye onything or a'thing aboot mysel'."
"Tell what ye wull, sir, an' keep what ye wull," said the cobbler.
"I was broucht up a herd-laddie," proceeded Donal, "an' whiles a shepherd ane. For mony a year I kent mair aboot the hill-side nor the ingle-neuk. But it's the same God an' Father upo' the hill-side an' i' the king's pailace."
"An' ye'll ken a' aboot the win', an' the cloods, an' the w'ys o' God ootside the hoose! I ken something hoo he hauds things gaein' inside the hoose--in a body's hert, I mean--in mine an' Doory's there, but I ken little aboot the w'y he gars things work 'at he's no sae far ben in."
"Ye dinna surely think God fillsna a'thing?" exclaimed Donal.
"Na, na; I ken better nor that," answered the cobbler; "but ye maun alloo a tod's hole 's no sae deep as the thro't o' a burnin' m'untain! God himsel' canna win sae far ben in a shallow place as in a deep place; he canna be sae far ben i' the win's, though he gars them du as he likes, as he is, or sud be, i' your hert an' mine, sir!"
"I see!" responded Donal. "Could that hae been hoo the Lord had to rebuke the win's an' the wawves, as gien they had been gaein' at their ain free wull, i'stead o' the wull o' him 'at made them an' set them gaein'?"
"Maybe; but I wud hae to think aboot it 'afore I answert," replied the cobbler.
A silence intervened. Then said Andrew, thoughtfully, "I thoucht, when I saw ye first, ye was maybe a lad frae a shop i' the muckle toon--or a clerk, as they ca' them, 'at sits makin' up accoonts."
"Na, I'm no that, I thank God," said Donal.
"What for thank ye God for that?" asked Andrew. "A' place is his. I wudna hae ye thank God ye're no a cobbler like me! Ye micht, though, for it's little ye can ken o' the guid o' the callin'!"
"I'll tell ye what for," answered Donal. "I ken weel toon-fowk think it a heap better to hae to du wi' figures nor wi' sheep, but I'm no o' their min'; an' for ae thing, the sheep's alive. I could weel fancy an angel a shepherd--an' he wad coont my father guid company!
Troth, he wad want wings an' airms an' feet an' a' to luik efter the lambs whiles! But gien sic a ane was a clerk in a coontin' hoose, he wad hae to stow awa the wings; I cannot see what use he wad hae for them there. He micht be an angel a' the time, an' that no a fallen ane, but he bude to lay aside something to fit the place."
"But ye're no a shepherd the noo?" said the cobbler.
"Na," replied Donal, "--'cep' it be I'm set to luik efter anither grade o' lamb. A freen'--ye may 'a' h'ard his name--sir Gilbert Galbraith--made the beginnin' o' a scholar o' me, an' noo I hae my degree frae the auld university o' Inverdaur."
"Didna I think as muckle!" cried mistress Comin triumphant. "I hadna time to say 't to ye, Anerew, but I was sure he was frae the college, an' that was hoo his feet war sae muckle waur furnisht nor his heid."
"I hae a pair o' shune i' my kist, though--whan that comes!" said Donal, laughing.
"I only houp it winna be ower muckle to win up oor stair!"
"I dinna think it. But we'll lea' 't i' the street afore it s' come 'atween 's!" said Donal. "Gien ye'll hae me, sae lang's I'm i' the toon, I s' gang nae ither gait."
"An' ye'll doobtless read the Greek like yer mither-tongue?" said the cobbler, with a longing admiration in his tone.
"Na, no like that; but weel eneuch to get guid o' 't."
"Weel, that's jist the ae thing I grutch ye--na, no grutch--I'm glaid ye hae't--but the ae thing I wud fain be a scholar for mysel'!
To think I kenna a cheep o' the word spoken by the Word himsel'!"
"But the letter o' the word he made little o' comparet wi' the speerit!" said Donal.
"Ay, that's true! an' yet it's whaur a man may weel be greedy an' want to hae a'thing: wha has the speerit wad fain hae the letter tu!
But it disna maitter; I s' set to learnin' 't the first thing whan I gang up the stair--that is, gien it be the Lord's wull."
"Hoots!" said his wife, "what wad ye du wi' Greek up there! I s' warran' the fowk there, ay, an' the maister himsel', speyks plain Scotch! What for no! What wad they du there wi' Greek, 'at a body wad hae to warstle wi' frae mornin' to nicht, an' no mak oot the third pairt o' 't!"
Her husband laughed merrily, but Donal said, "'Deed maybe ye're na sae far wrang, guidwife! I'm thinkin' there maun be a gran' mither-tongue there, 'at 'll soop up a' the lave, an' be better to un'erstan' nor a body's ain--for it'll be yet mair his ain."
"Hear til him!" cried the cobbler, with hearty approbation.
