“But what was the upshot, Janet?”

“I canna tell.  God alone understan’s quarreling folk.”

Then David went upstairs to his own room, and when he came down again his face was set as dourly against the coming interview as it had been against the mist and rain.  The point at issue was quite familiar to him; his mother wished him to continue his studies and prepare for the ministry.  In her opinion the greatest of all men were the servants of the King, and a part of the spiritual power and social influence which they enjoyed in St. Mungo’s ancient city she earnestly coveted for her son.  “Didn’t the Bailies and the Lord Provost wait for them?  And were not even the landed gentry and nobles obligated to walk behind a minister in his gown and bands?”

Old Andrew Lockerby thought the honor good enough, but money was better.  All the twenty years that his wife had been dreaming of David ruling his flock from the very throne of a pulpit, Andrew had been dreaming of him becoming a great merchant or banker, and winning back the fair lands of Ellenmount, once the patrimonial estate of the house of Lockerby.  During these twenty years both husband and wife had clung tenaciously to their several intentions.

Now David’s teachers—­without any knowledge of these diverse influences—­had urged on him the duty of cultivating the unusual talents confided to him, and of consecrating them to some noble service of God and humanity.  But David was ruled by many opposite feelings, and had with all his book-learning the very smallest intimate acquaintance with himself.  He knew neither his strong points nor his weak ones, and had not even a suspicion of the mighty potency of that mysterious love for gold which really was the ruling passion in his breast.

The argument so long pending he knew was now to be finally settled, and he was by no means unprepared for the discussion.  He came slowly down stairs, counting the points he wished to make on his fingers, and quite resolved neither to be coaxed nor bullied out of his own individual opinion.  He was a handsome, stalwart fellow, as Scotchmen of two-and-twenty go, for it takes about thirty-five years to fill up and perfect the massive frames of “the men of old Gaul.”  About his thirty-fifth year David would doubtless be a man of noble presence; but even now there was a sense of youth and power about him that was very attractive, as with a grave smile he lifted a book, and comfortably disposed himself in an easy chair by the window.  For David knew better than begin the conversation; any advantages the defendant might have he determined to retain.

After a few minutes’ silence his father said, “What are you reading, Davie?  It ought to be a guid book that puts guid company in the background.”

David leisurely turned to the title page. “’Selections from the Latin Poets,’ father.”

“A fool is never a great fool until he kens Latin.  Adam Smith or some book o’ commercial economics wad set ye better, Davie.”