“You’ll get your head blown off one of these days,” said Hugh Knox to Alexander, on a Sunday, as they sat in the library over two long glasses of “Miss Blyden,” a fashionable drink made of sugar, rum, and the juice of the prickly pear, which had been buried in the divine’s garden for the requisite number of months.  “These Creoles are hot, even when they’re only Danes.  It’s not pleasant for those clerks, for it isn’t as if you had the look of the man you are.  You look even younger than your age, and for a man of thirty to say ‘Yes, sir’ to a brat like you chokes him, and no wonder.  I believe if there was a war this minute, you’d rouse the Island and lead it to battle without a misgiving or an apology.  Well, don’t let your triumphs lead to love of this business.  I happen to know that Cruger means to make a partner of you in a few years, for he thinks the like of you never dropped into a merchant’s counting-house; but never forget that your exalted destiny is to be a great man of letters, a historian, belike.  You’re taking to history, I notice, and you’re getting a fine vocabulary of your own.”

“I’d like to know what I’ll write the history of if I’m to rot in this God-forsaken place.  Caribs?  Puling rows between French and English?  I’d as well be up on Grange with my mother if it wasn’t for you and your books.  I want the education of a collegian.  I want to study and read everything there is to be studied and read.  I’ve made out a list of books to send for, when I’ve money enough, as long as you are.  It’s pinned on the wall of my room.”

“And I suppose you’ve never a qualm but that head of yours will hold it all.  You’ve a grand opinion of yourself, Alec.”

“That’s a cutting thing for you to say to me, sir,” cried Alexander, springing to his feet.  “I thought you loved me.  If you think I’m a fool, I’ll not waste more of your time.”

“A West Indian temper beats the conceit out of the Irish.  You’ll control yours when you’re older, for there’s nothing you won’t do when you put your mind to it, and you’ll see the need for not making a fool of yourself too often.  But as for its present liking for exercise—­it’s a long way the liveliest thing on St. Croix.  However, you’ve forgiven me; I know that by the twinkle in your eye, so I’ll tell you that your brain will hold all you care to put into it, and that you’ll have made another list as long as King Street before you’re five years older.  Meanwhile, I’ve some books on theology and ethics you haven’t had a dash at yet, and you can’t read my other old books too often.  Each time you’ll find something new.  Sitting up till midnight won’t hurt you, but don’t forget to say your prayers.”

Knox, long since, had laid siege to Alexander’s susceptible and ardent mind with the lively batteries of his religious enthusiasms.  His favourite pupil was edifyingly regular in attendance at church, and said his prayers with much fervour.  The burden of his petitions was deliverance from St. Croix.