''Deed， doctor， that winna do at a'.It wad be ower mony strange faces a'thegither.We'll get Mistress Fyvie to luik till 'im the day， an' Shargar canna work the morn， bein' Sunday.An' I'll gang to my bed for fear o' doin' waur， though I doobt I winna sleep i'
the daylicht.'
Dr.Anderson was satisfied， and went home--cogitating much.This boy， this cousin of his， made a vortex of good about him into which whoever came near it was drawn.He seemed at the same time quite unaware of anything worthy in his conduct.The good he did sprung from some inward necessity， with just enough in it of the salt of choice to keep it from losing its savour.To these cogitations of Dr.Anderson， I add that there was no conscious exercise of religion in it--for there his mind was all at sea.Of course I believe notwithstanding that religion had much， I ought to say everything， to do with it.Robert had not yet found in God a reason for being true to his fellows； but， if God was leading him to be the man he became， how could any good results of this leading be other than religion？ All good is of God.Robert began where he could.The first table was too high for him； he began with the second.If a man love his brother whom he hath seen， the love of God whom he hath not seen， is not very far off.These results in Robert were the first outcome of divine facts and influences--they were the buds of the fruit hereafter to be gathered in perfect devotion.God be praised by those who know religion to be the truth of humanity--its own truth that sets it free--not binds， and lops， and mutilates it！
who see God to be the father of every human soul--the ideal Father， not an inventor of schemes， or the upholder of a court etiquette for whose use he has chosen to desecrate the name of justice！
To return to Dr.Anderson.I have had little opportunity of knowing his history in India.He returned from it half-way down the hill of life， sad， gentle， kind， and rich.Whence his sadness came， we need not inquire.Some woman out in that fervid land may have darkened his story--darkened it wronglessly， it may be， with coldness， or only with death.But to return home without wife to accompany him or child to meet him，--to sit by his riches like a man over a fire of straws in a Siberian frost； to know that old faces were gone and old hearts changed， that the pattern of things in the heavens had melted away from the face of the earth， that the chill evenings of autumn were settling down into longer and longer nights， and that no hope lay any more beyond the mountains--surely this was enough to make a gentle-minded man sad， even if the individual sorrows of his history had gathered into gold and purple in the west.I say west advisedly.For we are journeying， like our globe， ever towards the east.Death and the west are behind us--ever behind us， and settling into the unchangeable.
It was natural that he should be interested in the fine promise of Robert， in whom he saw revived the hopes of his own youth， but in a nature at once more robust and more ideal.Where the doctor was refined， Robert was strong； where the doctor was firm with a firmness he had cultivated， Robert was imperious with an imperiousness time would mellow； where the doctor was generous and careful at once， Robert gave his mite and forgot it.He was rugged in the simplicity of his truthfulness， and his speech bewrayed him as altogether of the people； but the doctor knew the hole of the pit whence he had been himself digged.All that would fall away as the spiky shell from the polished chestnut， and be reabsorbed in the growth of the grand cone-flowering tree， to stand up in the sun and wind of the years a very altar of incense.It is no wonder， Irepeat， that he loved the boy， and longed to further his plans.But he was too wise to overwhelm him with a cataract of fortune instead of blessing him with the merciful dew of progress.
'The fellow will bring me in for no end of expense，' he said， smiling to himself， as he drove home in his chariot.'The less he means it the more unconscionable he will be.There's that Ericson--but that isn't worth thinking of.I must do something for that queer protégé of his， though--that Shargar.The fellow is as good as a dog， and that's saying not a little for him.I wonder if he can learn--or if he takes after his father the marquis， who never could spell.Well， it is a comfort to have something to do worth doing.I did think of endowing a hospital； but I'm not sure that it isn't better to endow a good man than a hospital.I'll think about it.I won't say anything about Shargar either， till I see how he goes on.I might give him a job， though， now and then.But where to fall in with him--prowling about after jobs？'
He threw himself back in his seat， and laughed with a delight he had rarely felt.He was a providence watching over the boys， who expected nothing of him beyond advice for Ericson！ Might there not be a Providence that equally transcended the vision of men， shaping to nobler ends the blocked-out designs of their rough-hewn marbles？
His thoughts wandered back to his friend the Brahmin， who died longing for that absorption into deity which had been the dream of his life： might not the Brahmin find the grand idea shaped to yet finer issues than his aspiration had dared contemplate？--might he not inherit in the purification of his will such an absorption as should intensify his personality？
