Maggie remembered how, when a boy, he had liked to
talk with her father; and how her father would listen to him with a
curious look on his rugged face, while the boy set forth the commonplaces
of a lifeless theology with an occasional freshness of logical
presentation that at least interested himself. But she remembered also
that she had never heard the soutar on his side make any attempt to lay
open to the boy his stores of what one or two in the place, one or two
only, counted wisdom and knowledge.
"He's a gey clever laddie," he had said once to Maggie, "and gien he gets
his een open i' the coorse o' the life he's hardly yet ta'en hand o', he'll
doobtless see something; but he disna ken yet that there's onything rael to
be seen, ootside or inside o' him!" When he heard that he was going to
study divinity, he shook his head, and was silent.
"I'm jist hame frae peyin him a short veesit," Mrs. Blatherwick went on. "I
cam hame but twa nichts ago. He's lodged wi' a dacent widow in Arthur
Street, in a flat up a lang stane stair that gangs roun and roun till ye
come there, and syne gangs past the door and up again.
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