“Wull it be sae hard for them, Harry?” they’ve said the me, over and over again.  “Whiles I’ve thocht it would ha’ been better had I stayed oot there——­”

Weel, I ken that that’s nae sae.  I’d gie a’ the world tae ha’ my ain laddie back, no matter hoo sair he’d been hurt.  And there’s never a faither nor a mither but wad feel the same way—­aye, I’m sure o’ that.  Sae let us a’ get together and make sure that there’s never a look in our een or a shrinking that can gie’ any o’ these laddies, whether they’re our kin or no, whether we saw them before, the feeling that there’s any difference in our eyes between them and ourselves.

The greatest suffering any man’s done that’s been hurt is in his spirit, in his mind—­not in his body.  Bodily pain passes and is forgotten.  But the wounds of the human spirit lie deep, and it takes them a lang time tae heal.  They’re easily reopened, tae; a careless word, a glance, and a’ a man has gone through is brought back to his memory, when, maybe, he’d been forgetting.  I’ve seen it happen too oft.

CHAPTER XXI

I’ve said sae muckle aboot myself in this book that I’m a wee bit reluctant tae say mair.  But still, there’s a thing I’ve thought about a good deal of late, what wi’ all this talk of hoo easy some folk have it, and how hard others must work.  I think there’s no one makes a success of any sort wi’oot hard work—­and wi’oot keeping up hard work, what’s mair.  I ken that’s so of all the successful men I’ve ever known, all over the world.  They work harder than maist folk will ever realize, and it’s just why they’re where they are.

Noawadays it’s almost fashionable to think that any man that’s got mair than others has something wrong about him.  I know folks are always saying to me that I’m sae lucky; that all I have tae do is to sing twa-three songs in an evening and gae my ain gait the rest of my time.  If they but knew the way I’m working!

Noo, I’d no be having anyone think I’m complaining.  I love my work.  It’s what I’d rather do, till I retire and tak’ the rest I feel I’ve earned, than any work i’ a’ the world.  It’s brought me happiness, my work has, and friends, and my share o’ siller.  But—­it’s work.

It’s always been work.  It’s work to-day.  It’ll be work till I’m ready to stop doing it altogether.  And, because, after all, a man knows more of his own work than of any other man’s, I think I’ll tell you just hoo I do work, and hoo much of my time it takes beside the hour or two I’ll be in the theatre during a performance.

Weel, to begin with, there’s the travelling.  I travel in great comfort.  But I dinna care how comfortable ye are, travel o’ the sort I do is bound tae be a tiring thing.  It’s no sae hard in England or in Scotland.  Distances are short.  There’s seldom need of spending a nicht on a train.  So there it’s easy.  But when it comes to the United States and Canada it’s a different matter.