And sae it was that the I. W. W. began to lose its members.  For it turned out that the men wanted to be fair and honorable, if the employers would but meet them half way, and so, in no time at all, work was going on better than ever, and the I. W. W. leaders could make no headway at all among the workers.  It is only men who are discontented because they are unfairly treated who listen to such folk as those agitators.  And is there no a lesson for all of us in that?

CHAPTER XXV

I’ve heard much talk, and I’ve done much talking myself, of charity.  It’s a beautiful word, yon.  You mind St. Paul—­when be spoke of Faith, Hope, Charity, and said that the greatest of these was Charity?  Aye—­ as he meant the word!  Not as we’ve too often come to think of it.

What’s charity, after a’?  It’s no the act of handing a saxpence to a beggar in the street.  It’s a state of mind.  We should all be charitable—­surely all men are agreed on that!  We should think weel of others, and believe, sae lang as they wull let us, that they mean to do what’s right and kind.  We should not be bitter and suspicious and cynical.  God hates a cynic.

But charity is a word that’s as little understood as virtue.  You’ll hear folk speak of a woman as virtuous when she may be as evil and as wretched a creature as walks this earth.  They mean that she’s never sinned the one sin men mean when they say a lassie’s not virtuous!  As if just abstaining frae that ane sin could mak’ her virtuous!

Sae it’s come to be the belief of too many folk that a man can be called charitable if he just gives awa’ sae muckle siller in a year.  That’s not enough to mak’ him charitable.  He maun give thought and help as well as siller.  It’s the easiest thing in the world to gie siller; easier far than to refuse it, at times, when the refusal is the more charitable thing for one to be doing.

I ken fine that folk think I’m close fisted and canny wi’ my siller.  Aye, and I am—­and glad I am that’s so.  I’ve worked hard for what I have, and I ken the value of it.  That’s mair than some do that talk against me, and crack jokes about Harry Lauder and his meanness.  Are they so free wi’ their siller?  I’ll imagine myself talking wi’ ane of them the noo.

“You call me mean,” I’ll be saying to him.  “How much did you give away yesterday, just to be talking?  There was that friend came to you for the loan of a five-pound note because his bairn was sick?  Of coorse ye let him have it—­and told him not to think of it as a loan, syne he was in such trouble?”

“Well—­I would have, of course, if I’d had it,” he’ll say, changing color a wee bit.  “But the fact is, Harry, I didn’t have the money—­”

“Oh, aye, I see,” I’ll answer him.  “I suppose you’ve let sae many of your friends have money lately that you’re a bit pinched for cash?  That’ll be the way of it, nae doot?”