J-J-Bell
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 JAMES J. MCERIDE
 
 re a poet, Wullie McWattie? 
 (Page 19.)
 
 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER
 
 Something bounced forth, flashed past his eyes, and 
 alighted on the floor. (Page 35.)
 
 WULLIE McWATTIE'S 
 MASTER 
 
 BY 
 
 J. J. BELL 
 
 AUTHOR OF "Ox! CHRISTINA!" "WHITHER THOU 
 GOEST," "\VEE MACGREEGOR," ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK CHICAGO TORONTO 
 
 Fleming H. Revell Company 
 
 LONDON AND EDINBURGH
 
 Copyright, 1909-1910, by 
 FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY 
 
 New York: 158 Fifth Avenue 
 Chicago: 80 Wabash Avenue 
 Toronto : 25 Richmond St., "W. 
 London : 21 Paternoster Square 
 Edinburgh: 100 Princes Street
 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAOB 
 
 I. His FEELINGS 9 
 
 II. His RESPONSIBILITY ... 26 
 
 III. His JUSTICE 42 
 
 IV. His TOILET 56 
 
 V. His LUCK 65 
 
 VI. His CHARITY 74 
 
 VII. His YOUTH 92 
 
 VIII. His NEW YEAR QUEST . . . 109 
 
 IX. His SPECTACLES .... 118 
 
 X. His NEIGHBOURS' DEEDS OF KIND- 
 NESS 131 
 
 XI. His DISTRESS 148 
 
 XII. His REWARD 157 
 
 712885
 
 "Come oot o' that! Come aff ma bed, afore it's ower 
 late, ye muckle antelope! " (Page 71.)
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 " So ye're a poet, Wullie Me Wattle? " 
 
 Something bounced forth, flashed past his eyes, 
 and alighted on the floor. 
 
 "Come oot o' that! Come aff ma bed, afore 
 it's ower late, ye muckle antelope ! " 
 
 Mr. Redhorn read the lines three times very 
 carefully. 
 
 " Mistress McWattie, if ye gang to Canada, 
 Joseph Ridhorn's a done man ! "
 
 L 
 
 Mr. Redhorn read the lines three times very carefully. 
 (Page 111.)
 
 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 HIS FEELINGS 
 
 PAINT-POT and brush in hand, Mr. Red- 
 horn stood behind Willie McWattie, his 
 fourteen-year-old apprentice, and sor- 
 rowfully regarded the latter's handiwork in 
 bright green upon the Misses Lavendar's fence. 
 
 "Wullie, Wullie," he said reproachfully, 
 "d'ye ca' that pentin'?" 
 
 The boy stayed his brush, but made no reply. 
 
 " The poet," remarked Mr. Redhorn, " is 
 born, no' made; an' I doot it's the same wi' the 
 penter. Ye was maybe born wi' a siller spune 
 in yer mooth, Wullie McWattie I'm shair I 
 hope ye was for yer mither's sake but I'm 
 feart it wasna a pent-brush." 
 
 " Was you born wi' a pent-brush in yer 
 mooth, Maister Ridhorn?" asked the boy 
 innocently. 
 
 " Feeguratively speakin'," replied Mr. Red- 
 horn modestly, " I may say I was." 
 
 " Was't a size brush ? " Willie inquired with 
 a snigger. 
 
 "Noo, Wullie," said the painter in a warn- 
 ing tone, "that'll dae! Impiddence has made 
 9
 
 10 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 some folk in this world millionaires, but it's 
 sent ithers to the jile. What I was gaun to 
 say to ye was this: Ye're no' a genius, but I 
 believe ye wud mak' a fair average penter if ye 
 persevered an' peyed attention. But yer care- 
 lessness wud gar an angel greet. 'Deed, wud 
 it! See this!" 
 
 Mr. Eedhorn pointed to a spar which the boy 
 had just left as finished. " Noo that's no' what 
 I ca' pentit. A hen could ha'e made as guid a 
 job wi' its bare feet." 
 
 "Is this yin richt?" the boy inquired, indi- 
 cating the next spar. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn shook his head. 
 
 " Ye dinna require a guid brush to pit pent 
 on like that. Ye could dae it wi' a spurtle. 
 Luk at the pent rinnin' doon in what ye micht 
 describe as festoons. It's like treacle. Tak' 
 yer rag an' wipe it aff . I dinna want ma repu- 
 tation in Fairport ruined. Later on, ye can 
 pent it ower again. D'ye understaun' ? " 
 
 " Ay," said Willie, a little sulkily. 
 
 "Listen, ma laddie," continued Mr. Red- 
 horn. " The golden rule in pentin', Wullie, is 
 no' jist to dae it wi' a' yer micht : ye maun dae 
 it wi' a' yer hert. It doesna matter what the 
 job is. Even if it's but a pigsty or the door 
 o' a midden, ye maun pent it as if ye loved 
 it no' as if ye wantit to cover it quick, but 
 as if ye loved it. An' if ye pent in that speerit, 
 ye'll be as happy as a king, an' ye'll whustle at 
 yer wark frae mornin' till nicht, as a' guid
 
 HIS FEELINGS 11 
 
 penters dae unless they happen to be martyrs 
 to dyspepsia an' chilblains." 
 
 " But I dinna want to be a penter, Maister 
 Ridhorn," said the boy. 
 
 " What's that ye're sayin' ? " Mr. Eedhorn's 
 ethical flight was rudely stopped just when it 
 had got well under way. 
 
 " I'm sayin' I dinna want to be a penter. I 
 want to be a sailor." 
 
 " Oh, criftens ! " the painter exclaimed, rais- 
 ing his brush to Heaven. " He wants to be a 
 sailor, an' him the only son o' his mither, an' 
 her a weeda! Think shame o' yersel', Wullie 
 McWattie, think shame o' yersel' ! " 
 
 Willie hung his head, but muttered rebel- 
 liously. 
 
 " Hoo d'ye think yer mither wud like ye to 
 gang awa' an' leave her?" Mr. Redhorn asked, 
 more calmly. "Ye sud try to mind ye're the 
 only yin she's got, an' it's yer duty to keep 
 by her an' tak' guid care o' her." 
 
 " But ma fayther said I was to get bein' a 
 sailor," said the boy, twirling his brush in the 
 paint-pot. 
 
 "Yer fayther, puir man, didna coont on 
 leavin' yer mither a weeda to work for her 
 meat. I'm no' sayin' onything agin bein' a 
 sailor, Wullie though I canna agree wi' the 
 sea masel' internally, I mean, but the pent- 
 in's an honourable tred, an' wi' a' its dangers, 
 ye can aye be shair o' a funeral when yer time 
 comes."
 
 12 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 " I'm no feart for the sea ! An' I can sclim 
 up onything." 
 
 " Yer abeelity for sclimmin' needna be wastit 
 in the pentin' tred, espaycially if ye get the job 
 o' gildin' a cock on a kirk steeple," the painter 
 returned encouragingly. " That's a job I never 
 could tackle. Ma heid sooms when I get up 
 to high altitudes." He smacked his lips after 
 the word. " High altitudes," he repeated, " is 
 no' in ma line. But this'll never dae, Wullie," 
 he said abruptly. " The Miss Lavendars dinna 
 pey us to indulge in conversation. Get on wi' 
 yer pentin'. See if ye canna mak' a better job 
 this time. Be gentle yet firm, as a young leddy 
 I read aboot was when she tell't a young man 
 she didna want his unwelcome attentions. 
 Pentin's neither prize-fechtin' nor fly-fishin'." 
 
 rt It's no' sax o'clock yet, Maister Ridhorn? " 
 
 Mr. Redhorn consulted a fat silver watch. 
 "Ay; it's jist sax. But we'll gang on till the 
 quarter past the nicht, Wullie." 
 
 Having finished his evening meal, Mr. Red- 
 horn helped himself to a dose of the physic 
 which, he was always ready to testify, pro- 
 vided the world's one cure for dyspepsia. He 
 then seated himself in his easy-chair by the 
 hearth and produced from his pocket a packet 
 of cigarettes of inferior quality. He was a 
 novice at smoking, having started the indul- 
 gence but a year previously, shortly after his
 
 HIS FEELINGS 13 
 
 discovery of the aforementioned remedy. One 
 of the humours of the Fairport boys consisted 
 in pretending to " smoke like Joseph Ridhorn." 
 This was accomplished by taking in the smoke 
 with an intensely anxious expression of coun- 
 tenance, expelling it from a mouth shaped to 
 resemble that of an expiring codfish, and then 
 spitting out shreds of tobacco. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn had not taken a dozen cau- 
 tious puffs when a knock fell on the door of 
 his one-room dwelling. He extinguished the 
 cigarette carefully, laid it on the mantelpiece, 
 and went to the door. 
 
 " Oh, it's you, Maister Banks. Fine nicht, 
 but a wee thing cauld," he said in polite if not 
 friendly accents. " Was ye wantin' ony- 
 thing? " 
 
 " I was wantin' to see you. If ye've nae ob- 
 jections, I'll come inside for a meenute," re- 
 turned the local fish-merchant. 
 
 " Come ben," said Joseph, wondering what 
 had brought the man to him. It was not long 
 since they had parted on terms the reverse of 
 pleasant. 
 
 " It's no' ma custom to interfere," began Mr. 
 Danks, as he took a chair by the fire; "I'm 
 sayin' it's no' ma custom to interfere in ither 
 folk's business, but on this occasion I feel it's 
 ma duty." 
 
 " Jist that," said Mr. Redhorn quietly. 
 "What's the complaint, Maister Danks?" 
 
 " There's nae complaint as faur as I'm con-
 
 14 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 cerned," the other replied. " I've merely come 
 to inform ye that ye're bein' deceived. That 
 Wullie McWattie " 
 
 " Thenk ye," interrupted the painter. " But 
 I think we baith agreed a while back to let 
 that subjec' drap. I explained then to ye ma 
 reason for takin' on Wullie instead o' yer sis- 
 ter's laddie, an' I've nae mair to say aboot it." 
 
 " Oh, but ye'll maybe ha'e mair to say aboot 
 it when ye see what I've got in ma pooch," said 
 Mr. Danks, with an unpleasant laugh. 
 
 " I ha'e neither cravin' nor curiosity to see 
 what's in yer pooch," the painter coldly re- 
 torted. " An' if ye've come to speak ill o' 
 Wullie, ye better save yer breath to cry yer fish 
 wi', Maister Danks." 
 
 As it was some years since Mr. Danks had 
 hawked his wares from door to door, and as 
 his business was now largely wholesale, it was 
 perhaps natural that he should resent the 
 painter's advice. 
 
 " I speak ill o' naebody," he hotly rejoined, 
 " an' I say naething excep' I can prove it. An' 
 I'm tellin' ye noo that ye'll sune be wishin' ye 
 had ta'en on ma nephew, Peter Shaw, instead 
 of that guid-for-naething Wullie McWattie. 
 Peter wud ha'e cost ye naething for a year, 
 but I hear ye're peyin' Wullie five shillin's a 
 week for wastin' yer pent." 
 
 "Wullie has the makin's o' a first-class 
 penter, let me tell ye ! " said Joseph warml}'. 
 " What I pey him is ma ain business. Ye micht
 
 HIS FEELINGS 15 
 
 think shame o' yersel' to come here objectin' 
 to the laddie earnin' a bit siller, when ye ken 
 fine hoo badly left his mither was. Awa' hame, 
 man; awa' hame an' think shame o' yersel'! 
 Ye're as cauld-hertit as yer fish ! " 
 
 " Oh, we a' ken ye're a model o' cherity to 
 Fairport, Kidhorn," Banks returned, grinning 
 nastily. " An' I've nae doot Mistress McWat- 
 tie thinks a lot o' ye," he added, sneering. " Of 
 course, we a' ken that ye pamper Wullie for 
 his ain sake." 
 
 The colour rushed to Mr. Redhorn's rather 
 sallow face. "That'll dae!" he cried. "Get 
 oot ma hoose, or, by Jupiter, I'll pit ye oot ! " 
 
 Mr. Banks retreated a step, grinned once 
 more, and drew a piece of paper, folded small, 
 from his vest pocket. 
 
 " This'll let ye see hoo yer apprentice ad- 
 mires his cheritable maister. This paper fell 
 oot his pooch when he was sclimmin' a tele- 
 graph pole on his road hame the nicht. I 
 was passin' at the time an' picked it up wi'oot 
 him kennin'. I was gaun to gi'e it back to him, 
 but when I seen what it was I thocht it con- 
 cerned you mair nor him. I hope ye'll enjey it, 
 Kidhorn," he continued venomously, laying the 
 paper on the table and backing to the door. 
 " An' I may as weel tell ye that if ye dinna 
 show it to Mistress McWattie, I'll dae it, for 
 I've made a copy. An' as for the pentin' tred, 
 I wudna pit ma nephew to it, no' if ye offered 
 him a pound a week,"
 
 16 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 " Are ye feenished, ye meeserable charac- 
 ter?" cried Mr. Redhorn. 
 
 The bang of the door was sufficient answer. 
 
 " Oh, criftens ! " muttered Joseph. " A body 
 wud think the man had acute dyspepsia. Sic 
 spite ! An' what has Mistress McWattie to dae 
 wi' it? Puir wee Wullie, an' him wantin' to be 
 a sailor! . . . Noo what's in the paper, I 
 wonder." 
 
 He picked it from the table and opened its 
 numerous folds. It was a page torn from a 
 school exercise book, and bore writing of a ju- 
 venile character. 
 
 "What's a' this?" he murmured. And he 
 read it where he stood. 
 
 " ' Joseph Redhorn is his name, 
 lam glad mine is not the same. 
 
 Joseph Redhorn aye looks cold, 
 
 Sis hairy head is getting bald. 
 He's lerning for to smoke the now, 
 And looks as happy as a cow. 
 
 He takes medicine for his redhorn nose 
 
 And for the chillblings on his tose. 
 jy I was in Joe Redhorn' s place, 
 I would use my paints to paint my face.' " 
 
 Mr. Redhorn's clenched fist fell with a crash 
 on the table. It touched the edge of a saucer 
 <and a cup flew into the air and smashed itself 
 on the floor. He ground the fragments under- 
 foot. 
 
 " The wee rascal ! " he groaned wrathfully. 
 " The bad, impiddent wee rascal. Dod, if I had 
 him here I wud sort him! An' I suppose he
 
 HIS FEELINGS 17 
 
 had this in his pooch when I was gi'ein' him 
 advice the day. Joseph Ridhorn! ye've been 
 deceived ! Banks was richt the de'il tak' him ! 
 Ye've been warmin' a serpent in yer bosom, 
 an' an' it's bit ye ! " 
 
 He kicked the remains of the cup under the 
 table, and went over to the easy-chair. 
 
 " They say tobacca's soothin' ! " he reflected, 
 as he relit his cigarette. " But in this case I 
 doot I'll be seeck afore I'm soothed. This is 
 the last straw ! " he continued, staring at the 
 paper in his hand. " This is ma reward ! My ! 
 but Danks wud be pleased to get this ! " He 
 wriggled in his chair. " That's the warst o' 
 't. It's faur frae bein' a nice poem, but I daur- 
 say I could ha'e survived it, if Danks hadna 
 seen it an' he's got a copy, the the cauld- 
 hertit gorilla! An' he'll show it to Mistress 
 McWattie, if I dinna show her mine. What 
 a predeecament ! I suppose Danks thinks she'll 
 ha'e a guid laugh at me. I could endure that. 
 But she'll no' laugh, puir thing. She'll be af- 
 f rontit at her son. Oh, me ! I suppose I'll ha'e 
 to show her the thing masel', an' ask her to 
 keep it secret. An' as for Wullie, Guid kens 
 what I'm to dae wi' him, the rascal." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn took the cigarette from between 
 his teeth, eyed the ragged end hopelessly, and 
 pitched it into the fire. 
 
 " He's richt aboot ma smokin' onywey," he 
 said to himself, smiling faintly. " It's a guid 
 thing for him I'm no' a man o' wrath. Maybe
 
 18 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 I'm ower meek. But I thocht Wullie had some 
 feelin's. I never thocht he wud gang the length 
 o' makin' a mock o' his maister an' in poetry 
 forbye ! I'll ha'e to gi'e him the kick the morn, 
 though I'm vexed for his mither. I'm no' 
 prood, but I've some dignity, an' it's mair nor 
 flesh an' blood can thole to keep an appren- 
 tice that writes poetry aboot ye. I suppose 
 it's what the meenister wud ca' a satire. 
 Maybe I better try anither smoke." 
 
 He lit a fresh cigarette and relapsed into 
 gloomy reflections and forebodings. 
 
 But not for long. There was a knock at the 
 door. 
 
 "Wha's this noo?" he muttered angrily. 
 " Bootless it'll be Danks back to see hoo I've 
 enjeyed the poem. But he'll no' get inside ma 
 hoose the nicht. Bloodshed's no' in ma line." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn rose and went to the door. 
 
 " Wha's there? " he called. 
 
 " It's me," replied a youthful voice. 
 
 " Criftens ! it's Wullie ! " said the painter to 
 himself. He opened the door. 
 
 " Was ye wantin' ony thing? " he asked 
 shortly. 
 
 " Mither was bakin' scones, an' she tell't me 
 to bring ye thur;" and Willie McWattie held 
 out a parcel, warm to the hand. 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Mr. Redhorn, taken aback. 
 " Ye ye best come ben for a meenute an' rest 
 yersel'," he said, recovering himself. " This is 
 rale kind o' yer mither."
 
 HIS FEELINGS 19 
 
 Willie came in. 
 
 " Ye'll tell yer mither I'm greatly obleeged to 
 her, an' exceedin'ly gratified at bein' remem- 
 bered," continued Mr. Redhorn, closing the 
 door. " Sit doon, laddie, sit doon. Aw, ye're 
 lukin' at the wreckage ablow the table. That's 
 a souvenir o' an angry passion. Never heed it. 
 Tits! what ails ye, Wullie?" 
 
 The boy's face went scarlet and then white. 
 He turned as if to flee. 
 
 " Oh, it's the poetry," said Mr. Redhorn, lift- 
 ing the paper from the easy-chair. " I sud ha'e 
 something to say to ye." 
 
 Half -dazed, and afraid, the boy took the seat 
 given him. His host sat down, facing him. The 
 painter's hands trembled, but his voice was 
 calm. 
 
 "So ye're a poet, Wullie McWattie?" 
 
 Willie shrank, but said nothing. 
 
 " Noo," said Mr. Redhorn, holding up the pa- 
 per as if to enjoy every word, " I dinna profess 
 to be a critique o' poetry, an' maybe I'm preju- 
 diced, but it strikes me there's something wrang 
 with this parteec'lar poem. It's maybe true, 
 but I canna help thinkin' it's what sportin' folk 
 ca' ablow the belt in ither words, it's no' fair. 
 What dae ye think yersel', Wullie?" 
 
 He paused, but Willie hung his head, speech- 
 less. 
 
 " To begin wi'," Mr. Redhorn resumed, " the 
 name I bear is maybe no' distinguished, but 
 I've never heard onything to mak' me ashamed
 
 20 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 o' 't. As faur as I ken, there was never a 
 Ridhorn hanged. I've nae objections to ye 
 respectin' yer ain name, Wullie McWattie, but 
 ye needna despise ithers. Then, as regairds ma 
 personal appearance, I canna deny the truth 
 o' yer remarks : I can but regret that ye hadna 
 a bonnier theme for yer poem. As for ma 
 smokin', ye maun jist try to excuse me bein' 
 slow at the learnin'. If ever you're slow at 
 onything, Wullie, jist remember me. Con- 
 cernin' yer observations on the meddicine, I've 
 never expectit sympathy for ma dyspepsia an' 
 chilblains; an' I micht add, I've never gotten 
 ony. But d'ye ken, I've whiles thocht lately 
 that Wullie McWattie micht ha'e been an ex- 
 ception to the general rule? Wasna that unco 
 stupit o' me? " 
 
 The boy had turned sideways on his chair; 
 now his arms were resting on the back, and his 
 face was hidden in them. 
 
 " I I jist done it in fun. I didna mean it," 
 he mumbled. 
 
 In silence Mr. Redhorn folded up the 
 paper. 
 
 " I'm sorry I done it," said Willie in a 
 choked voice. His shoulders heaved. 
 
 This was too much for the painter. He rose 
 and went to the bowed figure, and laid a hand 
 on the tousled head. 
 
 " I'm gaun to try to forget a' aboot it, Wul- 
 lie," he said softly. " An', maybe, when ye're 
 a sailor, ye'll mind "
 
 HIS FEELINGS 21 
 
 " Are ye gaun to pit me awa' ? Aw, dinna 
 dae that, Maister Ridhorn, dinna dae that ! " 
 
 " But ye're no' wantin' to wark wi' me at 
 the pentin'." 
 
 " I am, I am ! I promised ma mither the 
 nicht that I wild think nae mair o' the sea, an' 
 I was gaun to tell ye she said I was to tell 
 ye when I seen the " 
 
 " I'm gled to hear ye're gaun to staun' by 
 yer mither, Wullie," said the painter gravely. 
 " Ye'll never regret daein' that." 
 
 " But I'll dae ma best at the pentin', if ye'll 
 keep me. Please keep me, Maister Kidhorn I " 
 
 " Wull ye try to love everything ye touch wi' 
 the brush?" 
 
 " I'll try. 'Deed, an' I'll try." 
 
 " Aweel, Wullie, we'll shake hauns on that." 
 
 While the boy got over his emotion, Mr. Red- 
 horn foraged in his cupboard. 
 
 " Here a bottle o' soda-water," he said at 
 last. " I used to tak' soda-water when I com- 
 menced the smokin'. It was revivin' in its ef- 
 fec'. But, as a drink, it doesna cheer ony mair 
 nor it inebriates. It's no' sae bad, though, if 
 ye pit a tate jam or jeely in it. Wait, an' I'll 
 let ye try it." 
 
 Presently he handed his visitor a tumbler of 
 pink and sparkling liquid. " Taste it. ... 
 Hoo's that?" 
 
 " It's guid ! " said Willie enthusiastically. 
 
 " Weel," said Mr. Redhorn, looking gratified, 
 "it's maybe no' up to its appearance, but it's
 
 22 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 safe. 'An' noo, Wullie," he continued, seating 
 himself once more in his easy-chair, " I want 
 to ask ye a question. D'ye fin' it easy to write 
 poetry? I'm no' referrin' to this poem," he 
 drew the paper from his pocket and replaced 
 it, " that's a' in the past. But is't easy, 
 speakin' ginerally ? " 
 
 The boy recovered from a slight fit of chok- 
 ing. " Mphm ! " he replied, at last, awkwardly. 
 
 " Ha'e ye wrote ither poems ? " 
 
 Willie nodded and smiled bashfully. 
 
 " Ony aboot the folk in Fairport? " 
 
 " Plenty ! " Willie's manner became a trifle 
 jaunty. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn paused. Then he said in a 
 casual voice, " I suppose ye never did yin 
 aboot a Peter Danks, the fish-monger." 
 
 Willie shook his head. 
 
 The painter sighed. 
 
 " But I could dae yin," said Willie. 
 
 " But it wud ta' ye a lang while," Mr. Red- 
 horn said, feeling ashamed of himself. 
 
 " Aboot five meenutes." Willie was himself 
 again. 
 
 His host drew a long breath. " Wullie, can 
 ye keep a secret?" 
 
 " Fine." 
 
 " Dae ye like Danks? " 
 
 "Middlin' ... I hate him. A' the boys 
 hate him." 
 
 " I I'll explain the 'hale thing to ye anither 
 time, but in the meantime I I'll gi'e ye a shil-
 
 HIS FEELINGS 23 
 
 lin' an' ma blessin' if ye'll write the poem re- 
 ferred to, wi'oot delay." 
 
 Willie gulped the last of his drink. "Can 
 ye gi'e us a bit paper? " he said a little shyly. 
 " I've a pincil." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn found paper, and cleared a 
 place at the table. 
 
 " It needna be complimentary," he whis- 
 pered. 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 " I mean, ye ye dinna need to to praise 
 him." 
 
 " I never praise onybody," said Willie. 
 
 " I micht ha'e kent that," said his master. 
 
 Half an hour later, Willie, his face red, his 
 eyes very bright, handed the paper to his 
 host. 
 
 " I'll ha'e to copy it oot fresh. Maybe ye'll 
 no' be able to read it," he said apologetically. 
 
 " I'll manage fine," said Mr. Eedhorn, shak- 
 ing with excitement. 
 
 " ' Peter Danks sells fish in dozens, 
 The Ji/i and him are like as cousins 
 
 And when you meet him on the road 
 
 You canno tell himfrae a cod. 
 But Peter thinks he's awful braw 
 Wlien he goes corting old Miss Caw. 
 
 And all the people laugh and wonder 
 
 If she'll get catched by the Fishmonger. 
 When he was young he used to cry, 
 " Fine caller haddies ! Come and buy ! " 
 
 He used to bow to anybody 
 
 From his wee cart that was drawn by a cuddy.
 
 24 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 But now to proud is Peter Danks, 
 If you buy a fish you get little thanks. 
 If I had Peter's face on me 
 I would jump forever into the sea.' " 
 
 Mr. Redhorn burst into almost hysterical 
 laughter, alarming the boy who had rarely 
 heard his master laugh in the quietest fashion. 
 
 "Wullie," he cried, when the fit had sub- 
 sided, " here yer shillin', an' may the Lord 
 mak' ma blessin' worthy o' sic a genius. Ye've 
 saved me frae an appallin' predeecament. I'll 
 tell ye aboot it anither day, but I maun gang 
 oot the noo at ony rate, as sune as I've made 
 a copy of this sublime poem. Gi'e yer mither 
 ma best respec's an' thanks. Haud yer tongue 
 aboot a' that has transpired the nicht. I'll see 
 ye at yer wark the morn's mornin'. Guid-nicht, 
 ma laddie, guid-nicht an' mind, ye're to love 
 everything ye pit a brush to." 
 
 "Hoo d'ye like that, Maister Banks?" in- 
 quired Joseph, breathing hard. 
 
 " I'll let that wee scamp ken hoo I like it," 
 snarled the furious fish-merchant. 
 
 " If ye lay a finger on Wullie, I'll ha'e a thoo- 
 sand copies prentit, an' scatter them broadcast 
 through Fairport. Mind that! Noo jist hand 
 ower the ither poem." Mr. Redhorn spoke very 
 sternly for so meek a man. " Ye're hoisted wi' 
 yer ain petrol ! " he added on receiving the pa- 
 per so urgently desired. " An' if ye're wice, 
 ye'll never mention poetry as lang's ye bide in 
 Fairport."
 
 HIS FEELINGS 25 
 
 He turned and left the discomfited fish- 
 monger, dumb, on his doorstep. 
 
 " Crif tens ! " murmured the painter when he 
 reached his easy-chair once more. " I'm 
 thinkin' Wullie McWattie was born wi' a siller 
 pen in his mooth. . . . An' efter a', a pen's 
 no' sae different frae a brush! Dod, I maun 
 ha'e anither ceegarette. . . . Brithers o' the 
 brush ! Ay, that's the expression I was tryin' 
 to mind! Brithers o' the brush! He's a gey 
 wee brither, but that's jist a' the mair reason 
 for me to luk efter him, an' no' be ower severe 
 wi' him. Ay, ay ! "
 
 II 
 
 HIS RESPONSIBILITY 
 
 "% T OO, Wullie," said Mr. Redhorn, eyeing 
 l^kj his apprentice seriously, " here the 
 pent, here the brush, an' here the hen- 
 hoose. Can I depend on ye? " 
 " Uh-ha," replied the boy readily. 
 " Weel, I hope I can. I'm sweirt to leave ye 
 yer lane, but if I dinna get Maister Jordan's 
 accoont made oot this efternune, an' presentit 
 this vera nicht, I'll no' see the colour o' his 
 money this year. I've just heard that him an' 
 his faymily's gaun back to Glesca the morn's 
 mornin'; an', as I ken frae experience, there's 
 nae use sendin' accoonts efter him. It's jist 
 wastin' guid postage stamps, for he'll let the 
 accoont lie till he comes back next simmer. 
 So I've got to baird the lion in his den, or the 
 bird'll be flown. Credit, Wullie, is yin o' the 
 curses o' ceevileezation. The mair ye gi'e, the 
 less ye get. Whiles the sad, sad words l to ac- 
 coont rendered ' gets on ma brain like the pat- 
 terns o' some o' the auld-fashioned bedroom 
 papers that the gentry used to pit on the wa's 
 o' the guest-chambers, so as the guests wud 
 come doon to breakfast wi' their heids fair 
 26
 
 HIS RESPONSIBILITY 27 
 
 bizzin', ready to eat onything. Ay, Wullie, it's 
 a bad thing credit; but I doot the pentin', 
 paper-hangin', and decoratin' tred'll never man- 
 age cash terms in this warld onywey. Ye'll 
 appreciate ma feelin's better when ye've a 
 business o' yer ain, an' when ye've a ledger that 
 gars ye groan at every third page. Dinna pit 
 sae much pent on yer brush, laddie! " 
 
 The boy made haste to show that he accepted 
 the reproof, and Mr. Redhorn continued 
 
 " Ma ledger is a record o' joys an' sorrows, 
 but maistly the latter. I'll let ye see it some 
 nicht, an' gi'e ye the details o' some o' the 
 entries. Ye wudna believe hoo faur a human 
 bein' can streetch his credit. Cahootchy's nae- 
 thing to it! I'm no' gaun to mention names, 
 but I'll tell ye an anecdote aboot a rale stylish 
 gent that used to ha'e a villa in Fairport, an' 
 cam' here every simmer. He was reputit to be 
 worth thoosan's, an' dootless he was to some 
 folk. He wore a gless in yin o' his e'en an' 
 spats on the baith o' his feet, an' he lukit 
 as prood as a black horse at a big funeral. 
 He was an awfu' yin for washin' hisseP, an' he 
 got me to pent the bath. The bath was oreegi- 
 nally pen tit imitation marble ; an' a bonny bath 
 it was! I pentit it masel' for the former 
 owner. Of course, Wullie, ye ken that marble 
 baths is nae longer fashionable; but at that 
 time they was conseedered genteel enough, if 
 no' exac'ly the rage. Hooever, ma stylish gen- 
 tleman didna like it in fac' he said he couldna
 
 thole the sicht o' it; an' he ca'ed the marble 
 pottit-meat to ma face, an' said he wud as sune 
 ha'e Bob Roy tartan. See, Wullie! Dinna 
 slam the pent on as if it cost naething ! " 
 
 Willie became more careful. 
 
 "Ye needna scrimp it either," said his 
 master. " Mak' as nice a job as ye can, Wullie. 
 It's maybe only a hen-hoose, an' a puir ram- 
 shackle thing forbye" Mr. Redhorn looked 
 round to see that the owner, Mrs. Milne, was 
 not within earshot " but it's aye a job, an' 
 ony job's worth daein' weel. If it's only a 
 hen-hoose ye're pentin' the day, it'll be a 
 mansion-hoose some day ye can aye think o' 
 that ! But I was tellin' ye aboot the bath. . . . 
 A weel, I jist swallowed the insultin' remarks 
 aboot the pottit-meat, etceetera as ye've got to 
 swallow mony remarks in the pentin' tred 
 an' speirt what he wantit done to the bath. 
 ' Pure white,' says he, an' tell't me he was in 
 the habit o' takin' a bath every mornin' an' 
 evenin'. ' Pure white it'll be,' says I, ' but it'll 
 tak' a wheen coats o' pent an' enamel to kill 
 the marble.' I didna say l to staun' the usage ' 
 as I micht weel ha'e done. He tell't me to pit 
 on as mony coats as I liket, an' efterwards to 
 come an' touch up the bath every month, for he 
 couldna thole the least sign o' deteriaration in 
 ony shape or form." Here Mr. Redhorn sighed. 
 "When ye're aulder, Wullie," he went on, 
 " ye'll dootless discover that humanity includes 
 a numerosity o' persons exceedin' sensitive in
 
 HIS RESPONSIBILITY 29 
 
 regaird to everything but an accoont ren- 
 dered." 
 
 " Did he no' pey ye for pentin' his bath? " in- 
 quired the apprentice, pausing in his work. 
 
 " Conteenue yer operations," said Mr. Red- 
 horn a trifle shortly. 
 
 Willie grinned and applied his brush to the 
 hen-house. 
 
 " What I'm tellin' ye," said his master 
 solemnly., " is for yer instruction no' for ma 
 pleesure. May it learn ye to beware o' pairties 
 wi' single glesses an' dooble spats, ma laddie, 
 espaycially when they're extra parteec'lar 
 aboot their baths. . . . Aweel, that bath took 
 three coats o' white leed an' twa o' the best 
 enamel afore I got it white. An' then his lord- 
 ship tried for to mak' a joke aboot pittin' ma 
 pent in the oven an' bringin' it oot pastry 
 meanin', of course, that I was in the habit o' 
 mixin flour wi' ma pent to gi'e it body. I tell't 
 him, sarcastic-like, that I never used onything 
 but tapioca, an' that dried him up like ter- 
 pentine." 
 
 " Dae penters whiles pit flour in their pent? " 
 asked Willie. 
 
 " Stric' honesty has been occasionally foun' 
 wantin' even in penters," returned Mr. Redhorn 
 regretfully. " But that's no' the p'int in the 
 meantime. The p'int is that I pentit the bath 
 as per contrac', an' the proprietor said he was 
 satisfied, as he micht weel ha'e been. I warned 
 him no' to use it for three days, so as to let
 
 30 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 the enamel get hard tak' a note o' that, 
 
 Wullie !" 
 
 " I've nae pincil." 
 " I sud ha'e said a mental note." 
 "What's that, Maister Ridhorn?" 
 " Criftens, laddie ! I'm beginnin' to ha'e ma 
 doots aboot ye passin' the sixth standard. 
 Keep mind o' what I said aboot lettin' the 
 enamel get hard. Ye'll maybe get the job o' 
 pentin' a bath some fine day. Ye never can tell 
 what's afore ye." 
 " I wnd like fine to pent a bath." 
 " Weel, dinna let yer ambeetion for the fu- 
 ture interfere wi' yer wark for the present. 
 Pey attention to yer hen-hoose. . . . As I was 
 tellin' ye, I warned the proprietor no' to use 
 the bath for three days. But he was as wake 
 as a man that canna resist the drink. He was 
 a perfec' slave to his bath. An' afore twinty- 
 fower 'oors had passed, he w r as at his abolutions 
 again ! " 
 
 " Did he stick ? " cried Willie, deeply in- 
 terested. 
 
 " Na, he didna stick. The fool isna aye re- 
 wardit accordin' to his folly. But the enamel 
 was spiled, an' ma services was again re- 
 quested. Weel, wi' the help o' patience, saun'- 
 paper, an' mair enamel, I got the bath pit 
 richt, an' heard naething furder for a week or 
 twa. Then I was summoned in hot haste, as 
 they say in the history book, to see what the 
 proprietor's leddy had done to the bath. She
 
 HIS RESPONSIBILITY 31 
 
 was an amature penter, Wullie; the kin' o' 
 penter that'll gi'e ye trouble when ye come to 
 man's estate. The amature penter is usually a 
 female " 
 
 " But what's an amature penter, Maister Bid- 
 horn?" 
 
 " An amature penter, Wullie, is a genteel 
 person that thinks ye can save money by 
 wastin' pent. As I said, she's usually a female 
 which is providential, for a female hasna the 
 strength to dae the awfu' things a male ama- 
 ture could execute. She usually confines her- 
 sel' to pentin' cogly stools an' wee shoogly 
 tables an' the like, but whiles she losses her 
 heid an' tries hoose-pentin'. But we'll no' 
 dwell on that the noo. I'll tell ye aboot some 
 amatures anither time." 
 
 " But what did the leddy dae to the bath? " 
 
 " Ruined it. There was a bit shelf abin the 
 bath the kin' o' shelf the gentry uses for 
 keepin' their cosmetics an' auld meddicine 
 bottles on an' the leddy got it intil her heid 
 that the shelf wud be ornamental as weel as 
 usefu', if she pentit it pale pink. So she bocht 
 a saxpenny tin o' pink enamel and a brush 
 that cast its hairs at every stroke, an' com- 
 menced operations. Weel, to mak' a lang story 
 short, she let the tin fa' in the bath. Then I 
 suppose she was feart to face her man the 
 abolutionist for she workit at the mess wi' 
 terpentine till she rubbit richt through to the 
 oreeginal marble. I never seen sic a bath
 
 never ! I was vexed for the leddy. She wantit 
 me to pit the bath richt afore the evenin ? boat 
 cam' in, but, of course, that wasna possible. 
 In fac', the job took mair nor a week. Crif tens ! 
 it was a dear, dear bath ! " 
 
 " Did ye never get peyed, Maister Ridhorn ? " 
 " Pey attention to yer hen-hoose, Wullie ! I 
 got peyed in kind, as the sayin' is, though 
 there was naethin' kind aboot it that I could 
 see. Efter renderin' the accoont eleeven times, 
 I had a ca' frae the abolutionist. He said he 
 had jist been passin' an' had drappit in to speir 
 if there wasna ony discoont to come aff the 
 accoont. I explained that there was nae 
 miracles nooadays. Then he said business was 
 bad, but bein' an amature artist hissel', he pro- 
 posed to pey me wi' fower picturs. He was 
 leavin' Fairport, so he wud ha'e nae objections 
 to me offerin' the picturs for sale efter his de- 
 parture. Weel, efter makin' some enquiries, I 
 seen it was a case o' the picturs or naething. 
 Oh, it's a queer warld, laddie : but it wudna be 
 sa queer if there was nae credit." 
 " What did ye dae wi' the picturs ? " 
 " I managed to sell the frames to Ogilvie the 
 grocer at Kinlochan. He refused to buy the 
 picturs wi'oot kennin' what they representit; 
 an' I had forgot to speir that at the artist. So 
 the picturs is still in the hoose. But I maun awa' 
 an' see efter Maister Jordan's accoont. Pey 
 attention to the hen-hoose, Wullie, an' dinna 
 frichten the hens. Mistress Milne wud be rale
 
 HIS RESPONSIBILITY 33 
 
 angry. When ye're feenished, ye can leave the 
 pent in the washin-hoose, an' I'll meet ye here 
 at seeven o'clock, prompt., the morn's mornin'. 
 Noo, can I depend on ye ? " 
 " Ay," replied Willie, and meant it. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn was absorbed in a troublesome 
 calculation 7 3-4 hours at lid. per hour. The 
 artistic temperament does not, as a rule, revel 
 in arithmetic, and the painter had mislaid his 
 ready reckoner. His right hand, holding the 
 pen, was poised in the air, so that the super- 
 fluous ink overran his first and second fingers 
 to their second joints; his left hand rubbed 
 the point of his nose almost savagely ; his legs, 
 beneath the table, were intertwined. 
 
 More than once had Mr. Redhorn been 
 asked why he bothered his brains over quarter- 
 hours in his accounts; why he did not deal 
 simply in whole numbers so long, of course, as 
 the whole numbers were on the right side as 
 far as he was concerned. To which query Mr. 
 Redhorn was wont to reply with an anecdote 
 of a painter of his acquaintance who had built 
 himself a fine house with the proceeds of in- 
 numerable imaginary quarter-hours of labour. 
 The painter had then entered his fine house 
 with great rejoicing, only to receive the parlour 
 ceiling on his head, which had caused him to 
 depart this life forthwith, an awful example 
 and dread warning to the trade. 
 
 " Noo," muttered Mr. Redhorn, " what's
 
 34 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 eleeven times three fardens? Eleeven times 
 three is thirty-three. Divide by fower. Fowers 
 into three '11 no gang. Fowers into thirty- 
 three oh, what is it? Criftens! I wish I 
 had Wullie here. Fowers into thirty-three 
 gangs " 
 
 There was a sharp knock at the door. 
 
 " Tits ! " he said, rising, " I near had it ! 
 Wha's this noo?" 
 
 Opening the door he discovered his customer, 
 Mrs. Milne, in an obviously high state of ex- 
 citement. In fact, the elderly woman was pale 
 and trembling. 
 
 Without waiting for an invitation, she 
 pushed past him, entered the room, and banged 
 a brown basket on the table. 
 
 " Oh, mind ma accoonts ! " cried Mr. Red- 
 horn. 
 
 " Accoonts ! " shouted Mrs. Milne, whose ex- 
 citement now appeared to be that of wrath. 
 " Is't accoonts ye're sayin'? Weel, I've a bonny 
 accoont to settle wi' you this nicht, Joseph 
 Ridhorn ! " 
 
 " Whisht, whisht, Mistress Milne, if ye 
 please," implored the painter, closing the door 
 and advancing to the table. " Folk'll hear ye. 
 Ye'll create a scandal in Fairport. What can I 
 dae for ye? Is there onything wrang?" 
 
 " Onything wrang ! " screamed the woman. 
 " Onything wrang ! Onything 
 
 Mr. Redhorn rushed across the floor to close 
 the window.
 
 HIS RESPONSIBILITY 35 
 
 "For ony favour, Mistress Milne, dinna 
 speak sae lood. Scandals is awfu' easy creatit 
 in Fairport. What's a-do? Cawm yersel'. 
 Explain yersel' 
 
 Mrs. Milne pointed a shaking finger at the 
 brown basket. " Open it ! " she commanded, in 
 a voice choked with rage. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn laid his hand on the basket. A 
 strange sound came from within. 
 
 " What's in the basket ? " he inquired, hesi- 
 tating. 
 
 "Open it!" 
 
 The painter could not disobey. He lifted the 
 lid. 
 
 " Oh, criftens ! " 
 
 He started back. Something bounced forth, 
 flashed past his eyes, alighted on the floor, and 
 from thence bounded on to the edge of the sink 
 at the window. There it came to rest, emitting 
 weird yet familiar sounds. 
 
 " It's a hen ! " gasped Mr. Redhorn, his hand 
 
 to his brow. " It's merely a " And there 
 
 he halted abruptly. 
 
 For it was not merely a hen. It was a hen 
 such as the world has probably never seen, a 
 hen with brilliant green plumage of surpassing 
 glossiness. Its neck alone was a dirty white. 
 
 Mrs. Milne preserved a grim silence as she 
 watched the truth dawn on the unhappy 
 painter. 
 
 He clutched at a straw of hope. " Hoo hoo 
 did it get the paint on it ? " he asked.
 
 36 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 " Wi' a brush," was the brief reply. 
 
 "Wha done it?" 
 
 " Ye ken fine wha done it ! " 
 
 " Did ye did ye catch him? " 
 
 " I wish I had ! " 
 
 Mr. Redhorn seemed to have nothing to say. 
 His thoughts were too angry and bitter for 
 speech. 
 
 A minute passed. " Weel, what are ye gaun 
 to dae aboot ma hen?" said Mrs. Milne 
 harshly. " Ye're responsible for yer appren- 
 tice's damage, I suppose." 
 
 " I'm no' denyin' it, Mistress Milne," re- 
 turned the painter, rousing himself. " I'm ex- 
 ceedin' vexed aboot the mishap, an' I tender 
 ye ma apologies. I'll gi'e ye some terpentine to 
 tak' the pent aff. It's no' near dry yet, an' 
 
 " Keep yer terpentine an' yer tender apolo- 
 gies," she interrupted him unkindly. " I want 
 to ken what ye're prepared to gi'e for the 
 hen." 
 
 " Gi'e for the hen ! " exclaimed Joseph in 
 astonishment. " But I'm no' needin' a hen. 
 I've nae place to keep it." 
 
 " That's nane o' ma business. The hen's 
 ruined, an' you're the responsible pairty." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn attempted to argue, but he 
 was no match for Mrs. Milne. 
 
 " I'll gi'e ye twa shillin's," he said sulkily at 
 last. 
 
 " Twa shillin's ! Twa shillin's for the best 
 layer I ever had! A hen that lays twa eggs
 
 HIS RESPONSIBILITY 37 
 
 for every blank! Na, na! If ye'll no' mak it 
 five shillin's, I'll gang to the laddie's mither, 
 an " 
 
 Mr. Redhorn took out his purse. He would 
 not have Willie's mother bothered. 
 
 " What aboot the price o' pentin' yer hen- 
 hoose, Mrs. Milne?" he inquired, fingering the 
 silver. 
 
 " We'll see aboot that when the job's 
 finished," she replied. 
 
 Joseph sighed. Willie had been shirking his 
 work as well as misbehaving. 
 
 " There the money," he said sadly. " I'll no' 
 detain ye." He crossed to the door, and un- 
 fastened it. 
 
 Mrs. Milne's eyes sparkled, and her face be- 
 came wreathed in smiles. " Ye're an honour- 
 able man, Joseph Ridhorn," she said gra- 
 ciously. " I aye said ye was that ! Maybe ye'll 
 manage to get the pent aff yer hen afore it gets 
 diseased. I hope ye will. It seems to be get- 
 tin' stiff-like," she added, with a careless glance 
 at the fowl which was still brooding on the edge 
 of the sink. " That'll be the pent dryin', nae 
 doot. Well, I'll bid ye guid-nicht, an' thenk ye 
 for yer honourable treatment." She picked up 
 the basket, and moved to the threshold. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn closed the door behind her, and 
 returned to the table. The ink-bottle had been 
 upset by the basket. 
 
 He groaned, and lifted his eyes till they 
 rested on the victim of juvenile cruelty.
 
 38 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 " What am I to dae wi' ye, ye puir innocent 
 monstrosity?" he asked mournfully, advancing 
 towards the window. 
 
 The hen gave a frightened cackle, endeav- 
 oured to fly, and fell to the floor. The paint 
 was beginning to do more than its work. 
 
 " Dinna be feart," whispered Joseph hoarsely 
 but kindly. " I'll no' hurt ye." With an old 
 newspaper in his hands he pursued it gently 
 round the room several times; but though its 
 wings were hampered its legs were nimble 
 enough. 
 
 " Maybe it's hungry, puir beast," reflected 
 Mr. Redhorn, halting and rubbing his long 
 nose. He procured a piece of bread, and scat- 
 tered the crumbs on the floor. 
 
 " Pease, pease ! " he cried softly. " Pease, 
 pease! Tits! That's what they say to doos! 
 Here! Chee, chee, chee! Na! that's no' it 
 either. Aw! I've got it noo! Here, tewky! 
 Here breid for ye ! Tewky, tewky, puir tewky, 
 dinna be feart! Tak' yer meat, an' I'll get the 
 terpentine ready. I sud ha'e thocht o' that 
 first." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn disappeared into a cupboard. 
 The hen, obedient to its ruling passion, began 
 to pick up the crumbs. Mr. Redhorn came out 
 with a can of turpentine and a bundle of rags, 
 and the hen fled to the other side of the room. 
 Mr. Redhorn laid the can and the rags on the 
 sink-board, and retired behind the cupboard 
 door. Presently the hen resumed feeding. A
 
 HIS RESPONSIBILITY 39 
 
 minute later the painter fell upon it with 
 the newspaper, and after a struggle secured 
 it. 
 
 And just then some one tapped at the 
 door. 
 
 With a groan of despair, he bundled the ani- 
 mated parcel into the cupboard. 
 
 " Mistress McWattie ! " exclaimed Mr. Red- 
 horn, in a fluttering voice. 
 
 The comely widow on the doorstep looked at 
 him with troubled eyes. " I wantit to see ye 
 for a meenute," she said, and glanced around 
 her. 
 
 The painter wiped the perspiration from his 
 face. 
 
 " Come ben," he said, with an effort. 
 
 " I wantit to see ye aboot Wullie, Maister 
 Ridhorn," she said, shaking her head at his 
 offer of a chair. 
 
 " Jist that," said Joseph, speaking with 
 nervous rapidity. " Ye're wantin' to ken hoo 
 he's gettin' on at his tred. I've aye been mean- 
 in' to gi'e ye a ca', Mistress McWattie, but I've 
 been unco thrang lately. But I can assure ye 
 that yer laddie's gettin' on spendid fair 
 magneeficent. He's rale quick at the up-tak', 
 an' he's got rale guid taste for a young yin. 
 Oh, I can assure 
 
 A frightful din arose in the cupboard. 
 
 " Oh, that that's jist the cat, Mistress Mc- 
 Wattie. It it's gettin' punished for stealin',
 
 40 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 ye ken. But we'll no' heed it the noo. Re* 
 gairdin' yer son Wullie 
 
 " Oh, please dinna say ony mair," cried the 
 widow. " Ye mean to be kind, but ye sudna 
 try to deceive me. I met Mistress Milne the 
 noo." Her voice broke. 
 
 Joseph Redhorn stood dumb, looking in- 
 describably foolish. 
 
 " I've nae excuse for Wullie," said the 
 woman, wiping her eyes. " Ye've aye been ower 
 kind to him, an' he deserves to loss his place. 
 I jist want to pey ye what ye peyed for the 
 hen." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn pulled himself together. 
 
 "Wha said Wullie was gaun to loss his 
 place? As for the hen, I bocht the hen for 
 ma ain pleasure an' gratification. I was jist 
 aboot to apply the terpentine when ye chappit. 
 I'll let ye see the puir beast it's liker a bird 
 o' paradice nor a hen, I'm thinkin'," he said, 
 forcing a laugh. 
 
 He unlocked the cupboard door, and with 
 frantic protests a bundle of newspaper rushed 
 forth and careered about the room. 
 
 The widow sat down on the nearest chair and 
 began to laugh. 
 
 Instead of applying the turpentine, which 
 the widow judged to be " ower severe," they 
 gave the hen a bath of linseed oil. The result 
 was better than might have been expected. The 
 hen continued to live with the widow's poul-
 
 HIS RESPONSIBILITY 41 
 
 try and for some time laid an egg for Mr. 
 Redhorn daily. At any rate, Willie delivered 
 an egg to the painter every morning. 
 
 Mrs. Milne, the original owner, publicly ex- 
 pressed her entire willingness to have any or 
 all of her remaining fowls painted on the same 
 terms as before.
 
 Ill 
 
 HIS JUSTICE 
 
 *W 'M no' sayin' ony thing agin the man," 
 protested Mr. Peter Banks. " I say I'm 
 * no' sayin' onything agin the man but 
 for sheer greed, an' selfishness, an' close-fisted- 
 ness, Sam'el Rintoul tak's the cake." 
 
 " Ay, he's greedy," assented the local 
 plumber, and spat casually over the pier rail. 
 
 " 'Deed, he is that ! " confirmed a third 
 native, whose business consisted in doing odd 
 jobs about the village odd jobs separated from 
 one another by spells of loafing. 
 
 He was staring at a wooden case which had 
 been landed from the afternoon steamer. It 
 bore a city wine-merchant's label and strips of 
 paper with the scarlet words, " With great 
 care," " This side up." He kicked it lightly 
 with his heavy foot. " Ay, he's greedy ! " 
 
 Mr. Danks's hard mouth relaxed into a sour 
 grin, as he bent over the label to examine it for 
 the fifth time. 
 
 " We'll sune ha'e anither example o' his greed 
 an' selfishness," he remarked. 
 
 " I'm thinkin'," observed the fourth of the 
 group, Joseph Redhorn, who had held his 
 peace throughout a fairly long discussion upon 
 42
 
 HIS JUSTICE 43 
 
 the character of Samuel Rintoul " I'm think- 
 in' ye're gey severe on an auld man. Sam Rin- 
 toul hasna that muckle to gi'e awa'." 
 
 " But the man's that greedy," said the odd- 
 job man, while the fish-merchant gave a harsh 
 laugh and the plumber again added to the 
 ocean. 
 
 " We're a' greedy, mair or less," Mr. Red- 
 horn returned. " Maybe I've been blin' to the 
 beauties o' yer respective natures/' he went on ; 
 " but I maun confess that nane o' ye has ever 
 struck me as perfec'. Maybe ye're in the habit 
 o' daein' yer little deeds o' kindness in the dark, 
 for nane o' ye has ever dazzled me wi' specimens 
 o' yer generosity." 
 
 The plumber and odd-job man sniggered, but 
 Mr. Banks glanced rather viciously at the 
 speaker. He had got the better of Joseph on 
 more than one occasion, but he knew he was 
 no match for his old enemy when the latter 
 used his tongue. 
 
 " But we'll let that pass," the painter re- 
 sumed. " If auld Sam Rintoul is greedy, it's in 
 self-defence. He kens fine what wud happen 
 if he was free wi' the presents he whiles gets 
 frae his auld maister, the Colonel. He's had 
 experience." 
 
 " What d'ye mean? " cried Banks angrily. 
 
 " He's had experience," Joseph continued 
 equably, " o' the voracity o' his fellows o' his 
 neebours. That's what I mean. But in case 
 it's no' clear enough, I'll gi'e ye an example."
 
 Mr. Banks growled and looked as though he 
 would like to depart; but the painter held him 
 with a glistening, if not glittering, eye. The 
 two other men shuffled their feet, grinning 
 sheepishly. 
 
 "On a certain occasion no' the only oc- 
 casion by ony means Sam Kintoul received 
 frae the Colonel a boax, sich as ye are noo re- 
 gairdin' wi' shupreme interest. The boax con- 
 tained bottles o' the best whisky, tinned meats 
 o' the finest quality, an' buns an', maybe, bis- 
 cuits. Sam could never afford to supply hissel' 
 wi' luxuries; he couldna afford to buy hissel' 
 a dram, an' never did I hear o' you chaps 
 offerin' him a dram gratis. Never! An' never 
 did I hear o' ye veesitin' him, the lanesome 
 auld man never! under or'nar' circum- 
 stances." 
 
 " Dry up ! " Mr. Banks muttered impa- 
 tiently. , 
 
 Mr. Redhorn continued: 
 
 " But in extr'or'nar' circumstances, sich as 
 the arrival o' the boax, I've heard that Sam 
 had a conseederable number o' veesitors. May- 
 be they gaed to see that he didna hurt hissel' 
 wi' luxuries. Bootless that was their objec' 
 an' sincere desire, for they could a' afford a 
 dram an' ither moderate enjoyments on their 
 ain account. At ony rate, Sam Rintoul wasna 
 permitted to hurt hissel'." 
 
 "That'll dae, Ridhorn," said the plumber. 
 " The man gets his whisky an' buns for nae-
 
 HIS JUSTICE 45 
 
 thing. It costs him naething to offer a few 
 freen's a taste an' a bite." 
 
 " A few freen's tastin' an' bitin' for a few 
 weeks costs him a' he gets frae the Colonel," 
 the painter retorted, with perhaps a little heat 
 in his high-pitched voice. " As I was sayin', 
 if he's greedy noo, it's in self-defence. I dinna 
 blame him for bein' suspeecious o' certain o' 
 his voracious neebours." 
 
 " See here, Ridhorn," put in the odd-job man, 
 " I've struck a man for less nor you've said." 
 
 " Was it no' for ftein' less nor I am ? Hoots, 
 Tarn! Ye needna get excitet. Confine yersel' 
 to strikin' wark, an' dinna let yer angry pas- 
 sions rise." Mr. Redhorn was no hero, but he 
 knew Tarn, whom he had tided over more than 
 one difficulty. 
 
 " It's a peety ye canna control yer tongue," 
 observed Danks disagreeably. " I suppose ye 
 think ye're an orator." 
 
 Joseph flushed. " Aweel," he said presently, 
 " I admit ye've had mair experience nor me at 
 addressin' the public, Danks, so I'll tak' yer 
 hint an' ma ain depairture." 
 
 The plumber and odd-job man laughed, but 
 Danks squirmed. He hated to be reminded of 
 the humble days when he " cried his fish " from 
 door to door. 
 
 The painter stroking his long nose, possibly 
 to hide the satisfied smirk under it, passed 
 down the pier, but after a few paces halted. 
 Looking back at the trio, he said quietly
 
 46 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 " I see Sam Rintoul comin' alang the road 
 wi' his barra dootless to fetch his boax. He'll 
 be gratified to ha'e yer j'int assistance in 
 cairryin' it to his abode. That's what ye're a' 
 waiting here for, I presume. Weel, weel, may 
 ye a' get yer reward ! " 
 
 And Joseph hastened away, followed by a 
 scowl from Banks, but by fairly good-natured 
 grins from the others. After all, most people 
 liked the painter better than the fish-merchant. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn would have passed on with a 
 nod, but the old man trundling the wheel-bar- 
 row hailed him, and begged him to " bide a 
 meenute." 
 
 " I suppose they're waitin' for me on the 
 pier, Joseph." 
 
 " Ay," answered Mr. Redhorn briefly, but not 
 unsympathetically. 
 
 The old man sighed. 
 
 " Joseph, could ye no' help me hame wi' ma 
 boax?" 
 
 " Me? Aw, I doot ye'll ha'e to excuse me, 
 Sam." The painter looked uncomfortable. 
 " Ye see, they're expectin' to gi'e ye their as- 
 sistance, as it were. They they wudna like if 
 I was interferin'." 
 
 " But I'm askin' ye to help me. I dinna want 
 their assistance. I I ken what that means." 
 
 The painter looked still more uncomfortable. 
 " Ay," he said slowly. " But ye maun be firm 
 wi' them, Sam. Dinna pander to their un- 
 seemly voracity."
 
 HIS JUSTICE 47 
 
 The old man sighed again. 
 
 " I tried for to be what ye ca' firm the last 
 time the Colonel sent me a present. I never 
 offered them a second gless. But " 
 
 " Ye wud be faur better to choke them aff 
 completely." 
 
 Sam shook his white head. 
 
 " It's no' that I grudge them a taste an' 
 bite," he said pathetically, " but but I like a 
 taste an' bite to masel'. Besides, it's the Colo- 
 nel's present. The whusky sud last for 
 months, an' it gets feenished in twa-three 
 weeks. What wud I dae if the Colonel was 
 comin' to Fairport unexpectit-like, an' me no' 
 able to offer him a dram o' his ain? He micht 
 think I was a hard drinker, an' I never was 
 that, Joseph." 
 
 "I ken that, Sam; everybody kens ye're ex- 
 tremely temperate. But as I was sayin', ye 
 maun choke them aff." 
 
 " I canna dae it. ... Weel, I'll no' keep 
 ye. I'll be gled to see ye ony nicht. Ye're no' 
 a whusky drinker; but the Colonel has sent me 
 port wine this time he says in his letter." 
 
 " Port wine. Then ye mauna waste it, Sam. 
 It'll be guid for ye, espaycially in the winter. 
 See an' preserve it frae yer voracious freen's." 
 
 Sam gripped the shafts of his barrow and 
 made to move on, a pitiful figure, bowed with 
 age and dejection. Somehow the sight of the 
 painter had given him hope, but now 
 
 " Haud on, Sam," said Mr. Kedhorn sud-
 
 48 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 denly. " Something maun be done. We maun 
 choke them aff by fair means or foul, as the 
 poet says. I preshume they'll be payin' ye a 
 veesit thenicht?" 
 
 "Ay; it's likely." 
 
 " Wud ye bid them to come at eicht o'clock ? " 
 
 "Eh? Bid them?" 
 
 "Ay to a cake an' wine banquet, so to 
 speak." 
 
 " Aw, Joseph, ye're jokin'." 
 
 " Na ; I'm serious. . . . An' bid me to come 
 at seeven-thirty. I've a plan which I will un- 
 fold to ye then a plan that'll maybe pit an 
 end to their voracity. Can ye trust in Provi- 
 dence and Joseph Ridhorn?" The painter 
 lowered his voice, which had been becoming ex- 
 cited. " It'll no' dae for you an' me to staun' 
 crackin' here. Can ye trust me ? " 
 
 "Oh, ay," answered the old man, after a 
 little hesitation. 
 
 " Then let them help ye wi' yer boax the noo, 
 an' I'll see ye at seeven-thirty. Mum's the 
 word." 
 
 "Mum? What's that?" 
 
 "Oh, that's the worst o' readin' a lot. I 
 meant to say, never let bug." 
 
 " I see, Joseph. But ye'll no' Aw, 
 
 weel, I maun trust ye. I'm seeck o' wastin' the 
 Colonel's presents." 
 
 " That's the proper speerit," said Joseph en- 
 couragingly. " Ye can tell Banks that I hadna 
 time to help ye wi' yer boax."
 
 HIS JUSTICE 49 
 
 So saying he turned away; and the next 
 moment began to wish he had resisted the im- 
 pulse to support old Sam Rintoul. 
 
 " Discreetion," he said to himself, " is the 
 better pairt o' valour espaycially when ye're 
 no' extra valiant by nature." 
 
 His work that afternoon was done a trifle 
 less conscientiously than usual, and his young 
 apprentice found him extraordinarily taciturn. 
 
 " What did ye say I was to say was the name 
 o' the wine, Joseph?" 
 
 It was almost eight o'clock, and Mr. Redhorn 
 was nervously puffing a cigarette in front of 
 Mr. Rintoul's kitchen fire. 
 
 " Quarto," replied Joseph. " Try an' keep 
 mind o' the name, Sam. It's no real name for 
 wine, but it'll impress Banks an' the ithers. 
 They ken what port is. An' the name o' the 
 bun is Shakespeare. I was readin' aboot 
 Quarto Shakespeare the ither nicht, an' I 
 thocht the names was as guid as ony. . . . 
 Quarto an' Shakespeare dinna forget. An' 
 here yer peppermints ye ken what to dae with 
 them. They're exceedin'ly powerfu' but that's 
 necessary. We better eat twa-three the noo, so 
 as to perfume the atmosphere an' prevent 
 suspeecions later." 
 
 Mr. Rintoul accepted the peppermints and 
 put one in his mouth. 
 
 "Ye're a clever man, Joseph," he remarked, 
 with a chuckle.
 
 " I hope I can depend on Tarn," said Mr. 
 Redhorn dubiously. He was going to say 
 more, when the sound of footsteps was heard 
 at the door. 
 
 Mr. Banks entered, followed by the plumber 
 and odd-job man. They looked surprised to 
 see the painter sitting there. Mr. Banks barely 
 concealed his annoyance, the plumber grinned 
 sheepishly, and the odd-job man's expression 
 suggested concentrated hate. 
 
 " I hope ye can a' fin' sates," said old Sam 
 hospitably. " Ridhorn took a lot o' persuadin', 
 but I wantit him to come the nicht an' taste 
 the wine the Colonel sent me. Ye're a' wel- 
 come." 
 
 They gathered round the fire, for it was late 
 Autumn, and for a while sat smoking and 
 chatting amicably enough, the fish-merchant 
 and his two companions being satisfied that 
 Mr. Redhorn was not there with any spying or 
 unkindly motives. 
 
 " Ye was sayin' the Colonel sent ye wine," 
 said Banks to the host, at the end of half an 
 hour. 
 
 " 'Beed, ay. A dizzen bottles o' o' Quarto 
 wine. I believe it's a splendid wine terrible 
 expensive, but rale guid for folk. Joseph here 
 was tellin' me he yinst read aboot it in a 
 paper." 
 
 All eyes were turned on the painter. 
 
 " Ay," said Joseph. " I read that it was rale 
 nourishin' an' sustaining wi' a taste different
 
 HIS JUSTICE 51 
 
 frae ither wines. Maybe it's an acquired taste, 
 but it's boun' to be guid when the Colonel 
 sent it." 
 
 " That's true," agreed the others, and Banks 
 and the plumber looked thirsty. 
 
 Joseph, however, directed the conversation 
 into other channels and kept it there for fully 
 an hour. 
 
 At the end of that time old Sam rose slowly 
 to his feet and, like the lady in perhaps the 
 most popular poem the world has produced, 
 went to the cupboard. And in this case the 
 cupboard was anything but bare. A little 
 husky sigh went up as the opening of the door 
 disclosed the store of good things, including 
 twelve dusty black bottles. 
 
 Very leisurely old Sam brought out three 
 tumblers of differing pattern, and handed them 
 one by one to Banks and his two companions. 
 
 " I've jist the three," he explained, " so ye'll 
 ha'e to excuse Joseph an' me takin' wur wine 
 oot o' cups." 
 
 He took down one of the bottles. 
 
 " Here the Quarto. Has onybody a cork- 
 screw?" 
 
 Right eagerly Mr. Banks declared he pos- 
 sessed the necessary instrument, and straight- 
 way produced it. He offered to use it, and the 
 bottle was handed to him. The point of the 
 screw pierced the red wax and entered the cork. 
 It was a solemn moment when the cork came 
 out with a cloop. Mr. Banks proudly placed
 
 52 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 the bottle on the table, on which the host was 
 laying a large square cake covered with silver 
 foil. 
 
 " This is a Shakespeare bun," said the old 
 man, prompted by the painter. 
 
 " 'Deed, ye're the lucky man, Sam," said 
 Mr. Danks, whose geniality had waxed amaz- 
 ingly. 
 
 " He is that," said the plumber, spitting into 
 the grate. 
 
 "Ay, ay," said the odd-job man, in a more 
 subdued voice than usual. 
 
 The cake was uncovered and cut, and a good- 
 sized slab passed on the point of the knife to 
 each guest. 
 
 Then old Sam, with an effort, said 
 
 " Help yersel', Danks, an' pass roon' the 
 bottle." 
 
 Mr. Danks helped himself cheerfully, and the 
 bottle went round. 
 
 "Yer guid health, Sam," said the fish-mer- 
 chant, and took an eager gulp, his example 
 being followed by the rest of the company. 
 
 Then fell a silence in which waves of pained 
 surprise appeared on at least three faces. Then 
 the rich-looking cake was hurriedly crammed 
 into the cavities for which it was destined. 
 
 " This is wonderfu' unique wine," observed 
 Mr. Eedhorn, without looking at anybody. 
 " II'll gi'e ye a' a toast." 
 
 There was no immediate response. The cake 
 seemed to be difficult to swallow.
 
 HIS JUSTICE 53 
 
 Mr. Danks, as if in desperation, took some 
 more wine and shuddered. 
 
 " They ea' it Quarto," remarked old Sam, 
 after slipping five peppermints into his mouth. 
 " An' they ca' the cake Shakespeare." 
 
 No one, save the painter, seemed to be in- 
 terested. The three companions sat with cake 
 in one hand and glass in the other, as if smit- 
 ten with palsy, save that their faces worked 
 convulsively. 
 
 And suddenly the odd-job man got up, set 
 his glass on the table, dropped his cake on 
 the floor, and ran from the room. The plumbar 
 next departed, and Danks, after one more sip, 
 groaned and also fled. Mr. Redhorn shook 
 hands with his host and followed them. 
 
 Not many yards along the road, he came 
 upon the fish-merchant and plumber gazing 
 horror-stricken on the odd-job man, who rolled 
 on the ground at their feet. 
 
 " Gi'e me an anecdote," he wailed. " I want 
 an anecdote." 
 
 " Antidote, ye eediot ! " whispered Mr. Red- 
 horn, bending over him. " What's wrang wi' 
 ye, Tarn? " he 1 asked aloud. 
 
 " I'm p'isoned we're a' p'isoned wi' thon 
 wine an' cake. Oh, me! Can ye no' get the 
 doctor?" 
 
 Groans burst from the fish-merchant and 
 plumber. 
 
 " Rintoul'll hang for this," said the former. 
 " An' the nearest doctor's f ower mile awa'."
 
 54 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 "What are we to dae?" 
 
 Mr. Redhorn shook his head. 
 
 "Can ye no' rise an' walk, Tarn?" he asked 
 of the prone one. 
 
 " I'll try. But I'm done for. Ye'll a' be done 
 for, unless ye get an anecdote I mean to say 
 antidote quick. D'ye no' feel strange an' 
 queer?" he demanded of each in turn. 
 
 They all did. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn rose upright. 
 
 " I've castor ile in the hoose. I had an aunt 
 that used to say, ' When in doot, tak' castor ile.' 
 I'm awa' hame for a dose, an' then I'll send 
 post-haste for the doctor." 
 
 The odd-job man scrambled to his feet. 
 
 " Ye'll gi'e me a dose," he said feebly. " Aw, 
 Joseph, ye'll gi'e me a dose ! " 
 
 " An' me," cried the fish-merchant. 
 
 " An' me," pleaded the plumber. 
 
 " If I can. spare it," was the cold reply. 
 
 With one accord they hastened to the 
 painter's abode, a furlong distant. They 
 crowded into his room. They sighed with re- 
 lief when he produced a noble bottle full of the 
 old-fashioned " cold drawn " sort. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn served it out in tea-cups. 
 
 " On second thochts," he remarked, when 
 they had all finished, " I'll no' tak' ony. A wee 
 tate quinine is nesty, but no' fatal ; the same 
 micht be said o' Turkey rhubarb. The twa are 
 the maist prominent flavours of Quarto wine 
 an' Shakespeare bun. An' noo, gentlemen, ye
 
 HIS JUSTICE 55 
 
 can retire." He went to the door, an' held it 
 open. " Dinna use bad language ; dinna try 
 assault an' battery. If ye keep quate, I'll keep 
 quate I'll keep this evenin's performance a 
 secret. I'll say naething aboot the reward o' 
 yer voracity. But if ye trouble Sam Kintoul 
 or maseF, the public o' Fairport shall be duly 
 informed that ye got dosed wi' castor ile 
 dosed like weans by Joseph Ridhorn. Pass 
 oot ! Guid-nicht to ye, an' pleasin' dreams ! " 
 
 Mr. Banks passed out. Mr. Red horn watched 
 him go. The plumber, who had been standing 
 by the table, followed. It was so obvious that 
 there was nothing else for them to do. 
 
 The odd-job man lingered. 
 
 " Weel, Tarn," said Mr. Redhorn pleasantly, 
 " here yer hauf-croon. Yer performance was 
 fair to middlin'." 
 
 " Did I no' dae the agony rale weel ? " 
 
 " Agony ! Oh, man, thon agony wasna worth 
 a button. Guid-nicht to ye." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn brewed himself a cup of tea, 
 and sat down to enjoy it. 
 
 " Richt or wrang," he murmured, " revenge 
 is sweet, vera sweet indeed ! " 
 
 As was his custom, when not in company, he 
 began by taking a good hearty pull from the 
 milk-jug. 
 
 " What's this? " he exclaimed. 
 
 The milk tasted queer, in fact disgusting. 
 
 Presently he discovered that the castor-oil 
 bottle was quite empty.
 
 IV. 
 HIS TOILET 
 
 ME. REDHORN divested himself of his 
 jacket and waistcoat, and raised his 
 hand to unbutton his collar. 
 
 " Wullie," he said, pausing in the act, " did 
 I no' tell ye ye could gang hame? " 
 
 " Ay," said his apprentice, " but but can I 
 no' get stoppin' till ye've dressed yersel' ? " 
 
 Mr. Redhorn frowned, remarking " I'm 
 no' in the habit o' performin' ma toilet in 
 public, Wullie. I invitet ye in to partake o' a 
 bottle o' leemonade, because the occasion was 
 yin o' conseederable importance; but I observe 
 ye've feenished the leemonade " 
 
 " Let me bide, an' I'll polish yer buits an' 
 brush yer claes, an' an' help ye," the boy 
 interrupted eagerly. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn glanced at the clock. "Near 
 fower o'clock," he muttered, " an' I've to be 
 ready at sax. Criftens! It'll tak' me a' ma 
 time !" 
 
 " I'll polish yer buits till ye can see yer face 
 in them." 
 
 " I'll be gled when I see ma feet in them. 
 They're that ticht," said the painter sadly. 
 56
 
 HIS TOILET 57 
 
 " They're a' richt for a funeral, whaur a body's 
 no expectit to be merry; but for a mairriage, 
 wi' dancin' to follow, Weel, Wullie, ye can 
 bide, if ye'll promise to baud yer tongue when 
 I'm shavin' masel'." 
 
 " I'll no' cheep," said Willie. " I wud like 
 fine to see ye shavin' yerseF," he added. 
 
 " Oh, that's what ye're ef ter ! " exclaimed his 
 master. " Weel, ma laddie, I'm no' gaun to 
 display the secrets o' ma boudoyr for your 
 amusement, or onybody else's. Awa' hame wi' 
 ye!" 
 
 " Aw, Maister Ridhorn ! " 
 
 So piteous and reproachful did his apprentice 
 look that the painter relented. 
 
 " Weel," he said slowly, " ye can bide in the 
 meantime. But nae levity, Wullie, nae levity 
 mind that ! " 
 
 On the whole, Mr. Redhorn was not ill- 
 pleased to have the boy's company while he 
 arrayed himself for the event which was caus- 
 ing much excitement in Fairport. " It's maybe 
 better," he reflected, " to let Wullie bide. To 
 be alane wi' ma thochts for twa 'oors micht end 
 in ma nervous prostration. I maun try no' to 
 brood upon ma responsibeelities. It's nae 
 joke bein' a best man." 
 
 Willie, with a boot in one hand and a brush 
 in the other, gaped at his master. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn, grimacing dreadfully, was 
 scraping the under portion of his chin.
 
 58 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 Suddenly the painter paused in his task. 
 
 " Laddie," he said solemnly, " for ony favour, 
 dinna glower at me as if I was a waux-work. 
 Did ye never see onybody shavin' afore ? " 
 
 "Na. It's awfu' funny." 
 
 "Funny? It's a tragedy! I bocht this 
 rauzor aff a man in Glesca. I broke ma auld 
 yin, which wasna bad. This yin cost me three 
 shillin's, an' the man said it wud provide a 
 luxurious shave. Weel, it's maybe that I'm no' 
 used to luxury. Never you seek to shave, 
 Wullie. Grow a baird when yer time comes." 
 
 " What wey dae you no' grow a baird, 
 Maister Ridhorn?" 
 
 The painter sighed. " The plainest o' human 
 bein's ha'e their wee vanities. I yinst tried to 
 grow a baird, but I couldna get it to come 
 even. So, instead o' bein' contentit to be as 
 Providence designed me, I resumed the torture 
 which ye're at present witnessin'. Let it be a 
 warnin'. . . . Noo, turn yer back to me, an' 
 dinna gloat on ma sufferin's." 
 
 " Noo to perform ma abolutions," said Mr. 
 Redhorn, more cheerfully, putting away his 
 razor. " Under the circumstances it wasna a 
 bad shave. Bootless, if I had been the bride- 
 groom instead of jist the best man, I wud ha'e 
 cut ma nose aff." 
 
 " What has the best man got to dae, Maister 
 Ridhorn ? " inquired Willie, and spat lightly on 
 the blacking.
 
 HIS TOILET 59 
 
 " What has he no' got to dae ? " cried the 
 painter, with a groan. " He's got to be a host 
 in hissel'! A compendium o' tact an' socia'- 
 beelity. I thocht it was a simple affair until 
 I read aboot it in a wee paper I got frae Miss 
 Lavendar. She had heard I was gaun to be 
 best man to John Sorley, an' she meant kindly, 
 nae doot, but I wish I had never seen the 
 paper. Of course, the instructions was intendit 
 maistly for gentry, but they pit notions intil 
 ma heid that I wud gledly get oot. For in- 
 stance, I'm feart I stert up and propose the 
 health o' the bride's parents, wha've been deid, 
 puir bodies, for mony a lang year. I'm feart I 
 loss ma heid an' gi'e the meenister a fee 
 a thrup'n'y bit or dae something else 
 rideec'lous. I'm feart I affront masel' in fifty 
 weys. . . . But I mauna brood on sic painful 
 details, or I'll never be ready at sax prompt. 
 Never shave, an' never be a best man, 
 Wullie." 
 
 There was a great gushing of water at the 
 sink, and for the next ten minutes Mr. Redhorn 
 rubbed and scrubbed, and puffed and snorted, 
 with the utmost enthusiasm. 
 
 " Hech ! but that's caller ! " he gasped from 
 the towel. " If ye canna be handsome, ye can 
 be clean. Tits! this towel's fu' o' holes. I 
 near dislocatit ma nose. That's yin dis- 
 advantage o' bein' a single man, Wullie. Nae 
 wonder monks an' the like was said to spend 
 a holy existence. Nae wonder they didna weer
 
 60 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 socks. Dod! this towel's a sicht for a female 
 suffragist ! " 
 
 " I'll get ma mither to mend it for ye, if ye 
 like," put in Willie. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn started. Then he said quietly, 
 " This towel is yin o' ma boudoyr secrets, lad- 
 die. Dinna repeat it." 
 
 " If Julius Caesar had wore this sark," ob- 
 served the painter, tapping the extremely stiff 
 front, " he micht ha'e lived to be hung. He 
 certainly wudna ha'e felt the daggers o' his 
 foes. I feel like Ivanhoe an' he maun ha'e 
 been sair uncomfortable when the tinsmith had 
 feenished his job. This is what the modern 
 steam laundry can dae for five-pence ay! 
 An', as per usual, the button at the back's awa' 
 wi' 't. I daursay the laundries mak' a profit 
 oot their customers' buttons. Ha'e ye a preen, 
 laddie? . . . Thenk ye. Noo for the collar 
 anither invention o' deluded man. Man's in- 
 humanity to man, etceetera. My! but it's 
 stiff! . . . Whaur's ma stud? Aw, here it is. 
 Tits! I've drappit it! Ma fingers is a' 
 thoombs the day. Thenk ye, Wullie. This stud 
 is manufactured o' rolled gold, an' it's mair 
 fikey nor precious. It's got a patent heid that 
 flees aff when ye least expec' it. It's no' the 
 thing to weer when ye've a ticht collar an' a 
 cough unless ye want to pit oot somebody's 
 e'e. Hooever, this is a new collar that I got 
 spaycially twa sizes ower big for me, so as the
 
 HIS TOILET 61 
 
 harmony o' the waddin' wudna be interrup'it. 
 ... It bulges at the sides, but I'll jist ha'e 
 to try an' look as if it was the latest style." 
 
 " Tits ! I near forgot to brush ma hair. 
 What wey did ye no' ca' ma attention to the 
 omeesion, Wullie?" 
 
 " I didna notice, Maister Ridhorn. I was 
 brushin' ye're buits." 
 
 " Weel, weel, ye've mair to brush nor I've 
 got," said the painter with a rueful grin, as 
 he looked in the small mirror. " Ma hair's like 
 yin o' thae fastin' professors: it gets thinner 
 every day. Nevertheless, it's no' aye the hair- 
 iest heid that's the cleverest. Mind that, Wul- 
 lie, if ye commence to get bald afore yer prime, 
 as I did." Mr. Redhorn proceeded, with 
 mathematical precision, to arrange his few 
 long hairs across his scalp. " I yinst read in 
 a paper that it was the duty o' everybody to 
 mak' the maist o' their pheesical charms an' 
 nateral attractions," he remarked ; adding 
 gloomily, " In some cases the maist is no' 
 muckle." 
 
 " Are ye ready for yer buits noo ? " asked 
 Willie, perspiring with his exertions. 
 
 " Na ; I'll keep them till the vera last. It's 
 nae use meetin' trouble hauf-roads. 'Deed 
 ye've made a fine job o' them. I never had me 
 buits brushed like that afore. I'm obleeged to 
 ye, Wullie." 
 
 Willie looked gratified.
 
 62 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 "D'ye see ma tie onywhaur?" said the 
 painter, peering anxiously about him. " It's a 
 pink tie maybe no' becomin', but I under- 
 staun' it's quite the correc' thing. The shop- 
 keeper said it was a' the rage. Ye've got to 
 look jaunty at a waddin', nae matter hoo ye 
 feel. D'ye no' see the tie? I'm sure I laid it 
 oot at dinner-time." 
 
 They searched industriously but vainly. 
 
 " This is awfu' ! " muttered Mr. Redhorn, 
 glancing at the clock. " Five-fifteen an' me 
 no' near ready." 
 
 "Are ye sure ye laid it oot?" the boy in- 
 quired. 
 
 " I'm sure o' naething in this warld," re- 
 turned his master bitterly, rising from looking 
 under the bed, and rubbing his head, which he 
 had bumped rather severely. 
 
 " Ye've toosied yer hair," Willie observed, 
 " an' ye've filed yer sark front, an' " 
 
 " Haud yer tongue ! " cried the distracted 
 painter. " Job had his afflictions, but I never 
 heard o' him bein' a best man. Whaur on 
 earth is that tie?" 
 
 " I'll rin hame an' get ye ma Sunday yin," 
 said Willie, suddenly. " I'll no' be lang. Ye 
 can be pittin' on yer ither things till I come 
 back." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn made a feeble attempt to stop 
 him, but Willie bolted. 
 
 He returned at a quarter to six, and proudly
 
 HIS TOILET 63 
 
 presented a comparatively new tie of a light 
 tartan pattern. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn winced at the sight of it. 
 
 " It it's rale braw, Wullie," he said kindly ; 
 " but it's a a wee thing juvenile for me. 
 Never heed, though. I'll weer it, an' be yer 
 debtor." 
 
 He donned the gaudy ornament, and but- 
 toned up his old-fashioned morning-coat. 
 
 " The tie luks fine," remarked Willie, with a 
 smirk of pride. " It's a guid thing ye let me 
 bide." 
 
 " 'Deed, ay," said the painter, glancing at 
 himself in the mirror and shrinking from the 
 reflection. 
 
 " Are yer buits hurtin' ye? " 
 
 " So, so," replied Mr. Redhorn bravely. " Ma 
 chief torture the noo is mental. Gi'e ma coat 
 a brush, Wullie. Time's near up." 
 
 Willie attacked the back of the coat, but 
 soon desisted with an exclamation. 
 
 " Here yer pink tie ! It was in yer tail 
 pooch." And he flourished it before the owner, 
 who had turned sharply. " It's an awfu' bonny 
 colour." 
 
 " Tits ! I pit it there for safety. I'll " 
 
 He stepped towards the mirror. 
 
 " Are ye no' gaun to weer ma tie, Maister 
 Ridhorn? " Plainly the boy was hurt. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn halted. He made up his mind 
 quickly. He stuffed the pink tie into Willie's 
 breast pocket.
 
 64 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 " There, laddie ! Fair exchange, ye ken ! If 
 ye dinna like the pink, I'll 
 
 " Is't for me?" gasped Willie, delighted. 
 
 " Subjec' to yer mither's approval. Noo get 
 on wi' the brushin' an' mind the buttons at 
 the back they're like masel', requirin' the at- 
 tentions o' a female. Never you be a bachelor, 
 Wullie unless ye gi'e up the pentin' an' be- 
 come a tailor." 
 
 Just as the clock pointed to six Mr. Kedhorn 
 opened his door. Then he remembered that 
 the clock was twenty-five minutes fast.
 
 ft 
 
 HIS LUCK 
 
 A Mr. Redhorn was nearing his home one 
 evening, after a satisfactory day's work, 
 he was accosted by the postman, who 
 gleefully observed: 
 
 " Man, Joseph, it's yersel' that's the lucky 
 man ! " 
 
 " Hoo that, Peter? " inquired the painter, 
 looking mystified. 
 
 " What ! Did naebody tell ye ye had won a 
 prize in the Kinlochan Subscription Sale? Ye 
 mind ye tell't me to keep a ticket for you." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn shook his head. " I wasna 
 hame at dinner-time the day. Of course I mind 
 aboot the ticket. But ye're jokin' ! " 
 
 " No' me ! " returned the postman. " It's as 
 true as I'm here. I had the pleesure o' takin' 
 the prize to yer hoose twa 'oors back. I got 
 the auld wife that tidies yer place to open the 
 door." 
 
 " I'm sure I'm obleeged to ye, Peter," said 
 Mr. Redhorn, excitement getting the better of 
 him. " But what am I to dae wi' a harmonium ? 
 1 doot I'm ower auld to learn to " 
 
 " Ah, but ye're no' jist as lucky as a' that. 
 65
 
 66 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 It wasna the first prize ye got; it was the 
 fourth." 
 
 "Aw, the fourth. . . . Weel, weel, that's 
 guid enough for me. I had but the yin ticket. 
 So I've gotten the cuckoo-clock. That's fine! 
 A cuckoo-clock's a fine cheery thing - " 
 
 " Haud on, man ! Ye're ower quick. The 
 clock was the fifth prize. The fourth prize was 
 
 " A lamp ! " cried the painter. " I mind noo. 
 Weel -- " 
 
 "Naw, it wasna a lamp. It was a goat," 
 said the postman, chuckling. 
 
 " A goat ? " echoed Mr. Redhorn. He began 
 to laugh, but stopped abruptly. " A goat ! 
 What'll I dae wi' a goat?" he asked slowly 
 and heavily. 
 
 "I wonder what the goat'll dae wi' you, 
 Joseph," said the postman, shaking with merri- 
 ment. 
 
 "Is't is't fierce?" 
 
 " No' exac'ly fierce. I suppose it does what it 
 does in fun, but - " 
 
 "Fun! What does it dae? Here, Peter, 
 baud on a meenute! What does it dae?" He 
 clutched vainly at the postman, who was mov- 
 ing away. 
 
 " I canna bide the noo," returned the latter 
 hurriedly. " The boat's comin' to the pier, an' 
 I maun get the mail bags. Efter I get feen- 
 ished wi' the deleevery I'll come an' see hoo 
 ye're gettin' on. Ca' canny wi' the beast, an'
 
 HIS LUCK 67 
 
 mak' it keep its distance. It micht gore ye 
 in fun." 
 
 " Fun ! " muttered the painter once more. 
 With lagging steps he approached his abode. 
 A rain squall swept the village, and his neigh- 
 bours were all within doors. It was very dark. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn inserted his key in the lock, 
 but did not turn it. He listened intently. Sud- 
 denly out of the silence came a crash. 
 
 " Crif tens ! " exclaimed Joseph. " What was 
 that? What's gaun on in ma hoose? " 
 
 He continued to listen for nearly five min- 
 utes, but no further sound reached his ears. 
 A gleam of hope pierced his gloom. " Maybe 
 it's kilt itsel'," he thought. " Puir beast," he 
 added inwardly. " But I'm no' a true beast 
 lover, though Providence has seen fit to afflict 
 me afore noo wi' various beasts an' birds." 
 
 He opened the door cautiously and stepped 
 within, closing it softly behind him. Still all 
 was silent. He struck a match and peered 
 about the room. A chair had been overturned, 
 and several dishes lay on the floor in fragments. 
 Otherwise the room was as he knew it. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn drew in his breath with an 
 angry hiss at the sight of his broken china. 
 The hiss ended in a sharp exclamation as the 
 match scorched his finger and thumb. 
 
 "Are ye there, goat?" he asked in a low 
 voice, striking a second match. 
 
 There was no response of any kind, and he 
 went forward to the table to light the lamp.
 
 68 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 "Goat! Whaur are ye?" he demanded. 
 
 The match flickered out before the wick was 
 ignited, but not before the painter had caught a 
 glimpse of a weird object on the bed in the 
 recess. He knew it must be the goat, and yet 
 a shudder ran through him. 
 
 Hastily he struck three matches together, 
 and set the lamp going. The light encouraged 
 him. 
 
 Standing by the table and fixing the animal 
 with his eye, he said sternly 
 
 " Come doon oot o' that, goat ! " 
 
 The goat gazed at him suspiciously, and did 
 not move. Mr. Redhorn tried persuasion. 
 " The puir beast's maybe feart for me," he told 
 himself. With a kindly smile, he said gently 
 
 " Come aff ma bed, wee goatie, an' I'll gi'e 
 ye something nice." He wondered whether 
 goats liked cheese or strawberry jam. " Come 
 aff ma bed, wee goatie," he repeated, holding 
 out a friendly hand, which may have trembled. 
 
 At this gesture the goat rose threateningly 
 on its hind legs and made as if to jump from 
 the bed. It did not leave its refuge, however, 
 and Mr. Redhorn was not altogether sorry. 
 
 " It's got horns like daggers," he muttered. 
 " A bonny prize for a single man to get ! This 
 is waur nor ha'ein' a pentit hen i' the hoose. 
 Here, goat," he said aloud. He poured a goodly 
 portion of jam into a saucer and slid the saucer 
 along the floor. It came to rest a yard or so 
 from the bed.
 
 HIS LUCK 69 
 
 " There ye are, goat ! Dinna be feart. Come 
 doon an' enjoy yerseF." 
 
 The Fourth Prize paid no attention to the 
 invitation. 
 
 " Ye saucy monster ! " cried the painter, ex- 
 cusably indignant. He stamped loudly on the 
 floor, and the goat bounded fearsomely. He 
 wiped his forehead and glanced at the clock. 
 Nearly two hours must elapse ere he could de- 
 pend on the postman's promised assistance. 
 He groaned. He shrank from begging help 
 from his neighbours they were so easily 
 amused. 
 
 " If I yinst got the haud o' ye," he said, ad- 
 dressing the creature, " I wud tie ye up. But 
 ye could dunch a hole in me afore I could say 
 ' Jake Robinson ! ' Wull ye no' come aff the 
 bed an' eat yer jam, instead o' glowerin' at me 
 as if I was yer executioner ? See ! Luk at the 
 jam. Come awa', goat! Dinna be feart, ma 
 wee goatie. I wudna harm a hair o' yer 
 heid." 
 
 For nigh half an hour did the fortunate 
 winner address his prize; but threats and plead- 
 ings were of no avail. Then a sudden inspira- 
 tion seized Mr. Redhorn. From wall to wall, 
 above his head, stretched a rope whereon he 
 was wont to dry wet garments. 
 
 A few minutes later the rope was coiled in 
 his hands. Mr. Redhorn's promiscuous reading 
 had not been wholly futile. " If folk," he re- 
 flected, " can catch rhinoceruses frae the backs
 
 70 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 o' horses, I can surely catch a goat frae a 
 kitchen floor." 
 
 And to the best of his ability he manufac- 
 tured a lasso. During the operation the goat 
 hoofed viciously at the patchwork counterpane, 
 a proceeding which did not soften the owner's 
 heart. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn, with a confused picture of 
 cowboys in his mind's eye, gathered the rope 
 into coils and heaved it at the offender. The 
 rope struck the wall behind the goat, who 
 bucked frantically. 
 
 " I doot that wasna the richt wey," mur- 
 mured the painter as he gathered in the rope. 
 " It was liker a sailor on a steamboat nor a 
 wild-beast hunter." He set his teeth and 
 whirled the noose round his head. Somehow it 
 wound itself round his own neck. He removed 
 it, patiently enough, and made another attempt. 
 The noose in its flight wiped an old medicine 
 bottle from the mantelpiece to the hearth. 
 
 " This'll no' dae," he growled. " I'm ower 
 reckless. . . . Here, goat ! dinna claw holes in 
 ma bed," he cried. 
 
 It would take too long to describe all Mr. 
 Redhorn's futile throws. Suffice it to say that, 
 at last, by making a rush to within four feet 
 of the bed, he succeeded in getting the noose 
 over the animal's neck. With a grunt of 
 satisfaction he retired and drew it tight. The 
 goat bounced wildly. 
 
 " If ye get chokit, blame yersel' ! " yelled
 
 HIS LUCK 71 
 
 Joseph. " Come oot o' that ! Come aff ma 
 bed, afore it's ower late, ye muckle antelope ! " 
 
 The goat planted its forepaws firmly on the 
 bed-clothes. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn set his teeth, and began to 
 pull. 
 
 The rope parted, and the painter found him- 
 self on the floor. At the same moment, for 
 reasons best known to itself, the goat leapt 
 from the bed and skipped to the door, where 
 it turned at bay. 
 
 For some time the painter lay where he fell. 
 He believed the creature was about to attack 
 him, but he vaguely remembered that certain 
 wild beasts did not attack dead people. So 
 he held his breath till he could hold it no 
 longer. He then opened his eyes. The goat 
 was stationary in the corner by the door. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn arose, rubbing his tingling 
 funny-bone. 
 
 " I'm a meeserable cooard," he sighed, " but 
 it wud tak' a gladiator no' to be feart for thur 
 horns. What am I to dae wi' the beast?" 
 
 He decided to leave the house and remain 
 outside till the postman came. And then he 
 realised that the door was guarded. The win- 
 dow! Yes; the window was available but 
 what if any of the neighbours witnessed his 
 craven exit? 
 
 Once more he approached his prize, with 
 soft words and bland smiles. It looked more 
 terrifying than ever. He retired backwards
 
 72 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 and came to a halt with his heel in the saucer 
 of jam. 
 
 A knock. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn, sitting on the bed, his legs 
 drawn up, and the poker in his hand, replied 
 anxiously 
 
 "Is that you, Peter?" 
 
 " Naw ; it's me Wullie." 
 
 "Wullie McWattie?" 
 
 "Ay. Mither sent me wi' some scones for 
 ye. Are ye shavin' yerseP, that ye canna let 
 me in?" 
 
 " Na. I I'm no' exac'ly shavin' masel', 
 Wullie. Did did ye hear that I won a goat 
 at the Kinlochan Subscription Sale?" 
 
 "A goat? That's fine! Can I get seem' it? 
 Ha'e ye been ha'ein' fun wi' it? Goats is awfu' 
 funny. We yinst had yin." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn collected his wits. 
 
 " I canna open the door, Wullie, in case 
 in case it escapes," he called, adding in a 
 whisper, "Lord forgi'e me!" 
 
 "Can I no' get in?" 
 
 "Come roon to the winda," the painter at 
 last replied. He left the bed and proceeded 
 backwards to the window. Getting up on the 
 sink-board, he threw the window open. 
 
 Presently his apprentice climbed in. Sur- 
 veying the scene, he remarked 
 
 " Yer goat's a frisky chap, Maister Ridhorn." 
 He deposited a parcel on the table.
 
 HIS LUCK 73 
 
 " Ay, it's a wee thing frisky," returned 
 Joseph, letting the poker fall on his foot, and 
 reddening with shame and pain. 
 
 Willie, however, was already advancing to- 
 wards the goat. It rose to meet him. The 
 painter let out a warning cry, but the boy had 
 the horns safe in his grasp. 
 
 " It's a nice wee goat," Willie said, clap- 
 ping it. 
 
 "Wud ye like to tak' it hame?" said the 
 painter abruptly. 
 
 When the postman arrived he found Mr. 
 Redhorn alone. The room had been tidied up. 
 
 " Whaur's the goat?" he exclaimed. 
 
 " I gi'ed it to Wullie McWattie." 
 
 Peter could scarcely conceal his chagrin. 
 Relying on the painter's timidity, he had 
 reckoned on being, himself, presented with the 
 prize. 
 
 " Was the goat wild ? " he asked, with a 
 sharp look, and a meaning grin, as he 
 turned to go. 
 
 But Mr. Redhorn was prepared for the 
 question. 
 
 " A wee thing frisky," he replied. And 
 that was all he was ever known to say about 
 the Fourth Prize.
 
 VI 
 HIS CHARITY 
 
 IN a moment of weakness, Mr. Kedhorn had 
 submitted to having his photograph taken, 
 an astonishing thing to anyone who knew 
 him, for unless when carried away by a busi- 
 ness or philosophical argument, he was the 
 most modest, nay, the shyest of men. It should 
 be explained, however, that the weakness just 
 mentioned was mainly of the heart, it having 
 been induced by the woeful tale of an itinerant 
 photographer. Mr. Redhorn swore the man to 
 secrecy, and underwent the ordeal in the 
 privacy of his back-yard. On receipt of the 
 photographs, he glanced at them once, groaned, 
 and stuffed the packet into a rarely used 
 drawer. He then took a dose of physic which 
 he favoured during his occasional attacks of 
 dyspepsia, and tried hard to forget the matter. 
 Perhaps he might have succeeded, had not 
 the itinerant, some months later, given Fair- 
 port a second chance, and proclaimed the 
 painter's patronage to all and sundry. Where- 
 upon the ill-starred Joseph was chaffed to 
 perspiration point. The chaff was perfectly 
 74
 
 HIS CHARITY 75 
 
 good-natured save in the case of Mr. Danks. 
 It was with a vicious satisfaction that one 
 wintry afternoon he approached Mr. Redhorn, 
 who chanced to be chatting with several neigh- 
 bours at the pier-head. 
 
 " I say, Ridhorn, wha was ye makin' faces 
 at?" 
 
 "Me, when?" 
 
 "The day ye got photographed. Eh?" 
 
 " That's enough, Danks. That joke has had 
 its day." 
 
 " But I'm no' sae sure o' that. It's ower fine 
 a joke to let it dee quick. Ye sud wear a mask 
 the next time ye get photographed." 
 
 " Never mind him, Ridhorn," interposed one 
 of the neighbours. " Neither him nor onybody 
 else has seen yer likeness. He's jist teasin' 
 ye." 
 
 " But ye're wrang there ! I've got his like- 
 ness in the shop ! " cried Danks. 
 
 " Ye've what ! " 
 
 " I've got it in the shop. The man had it 
 amang his samples. I gi'ed him ninepence for 
 it. It's worth it ! " And the fish-merchant 
 guffawed. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn's nails bit into his palms. He 
 opened his mouth; often in the past he had 
 crushed his enemy with a swift if somewhat 
 ponderous retort; but now the very power of 
 speech seemed to have deserted him. He closed 
 his mouth, and drew in his breath with a faint 
 hiss.
 
 " What are ye laughin' at, Banks ? " said one 
 of the group. " Ridhorn can get his likeness 
 photographed if he likes. Ye've nae business 
 
 " I wish ye wud let us see it, Banks," put in 
 another, who had the misfortune to owe the 
 fishmonger money. 
 
 " Ye're welcome to see it," returned Mr. 
 Banks, checking his boisterous laughter. 
 " Joseph Ridhorn's latest portrait is noo on 
 exhibeetion admission free! Efter the New 
 Year, I'll maybe chairge a penny a peep. 
 But this day week I'll stick it in the win- 
 dow." 
 
 " See here," said the painter, finding words 
 at last ; " I canna prevent Banks tryin' to mak' 
 a cod o' me, but I can praise Providence that 
 I'll never be as like a cod as he is." (Mr. 
 Banks's countenance did indeed bear some 
 resemblance to that of a defunct codfish.) " If 
 he's no' carefu', some day he'll be weighin' his- 
 seP, an' tyin' hissel' up in an auld newspaper, 
 under the deluded impression that he's fit for 
 human consumption." 
 
 The members of the group, with the excep- 
 tion of the man who owed Banks money, snig- 
 gered, and one remarked : " That's yin to him, 
 Ridhorn ! " 
 
 "Ye think ye're funny," said Banks; "but 
 it'll be a while afore ye're as funny as yer like- 
 ness. I suppose ye'll be gettin' a gross to send 
 oot for valenteens. Binna forget that I've got
 
 HIS CHARITY 77 
 
 mines in advance. Weel," he turned to the 
 others, " is ony o' you chaps comin' up to see 
 the Ridhorn panorama? " 
 
 Once more the painter was at a loss, and the 
 fishmonger with another guffaw walked off, fol- 
 lowed by his debtor and two villagers whose 
 curiosity overpowered their regard for the un- 
 happy Joseph. 
 
 " I call ye to witness," cried the latter to 
 those who remained, " that if thon wee greeting 
 ginger-whuskered, photographic deevil sets fit 
 in Fairport again, I'll knock the face aff him 
 an' his infernal machine. To think o' me get- 
 tin' photographed oot o' pure cherity, an' then 
 him sellin' ma likeness ! " 
 
 " But Banks had nae business to buy it," a 
 neighbour observed. 
 
 " True," said Mr. Redhorn, whose passions 
 usually cooled quickly ; " but Banks wasna 
 owin' me gratitude quite the obverse." 
 
 " Is the likeness as bad as he pretendit?" 
 
 " Na," the painter replied drearily. " It's 
 no' as bad it's jist a billion times mair ter- 
 rible." And adding that it was two o'clock, 
 Mr. Redhorn hurriedly departed. 
 
 He had to pass the fishmonger's shop, and 
 the squawks of laughter proceeding thence did 
 not comfort him. 
 
 All afternoon his apprentice, Willie, found 
 him unusually crusty. " Is yer inside hurtin' 
 ye the day?" the boy once asked. 
 
 " Na, it's ma ootside."
 
 78 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 When it became too dark for work, however, 
 Mr. Kedhorn said 
 
 " If yer mither's no' needin' ye, ye best tak' 
 yer tea wi' me the nicht, laddie." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn, having finished his meal, al- 
 though his apprentice was still punishing the 
 bread and jam, rose, and after fumbling for 
 some time in a drawer, produced the packet of 
 photographs. With man} 7 misgivings and one 
 faint hope he handed a card to the boy. 
 
 " Never heed wipin' yer fingers," he said. 
 " There's naething to spile." 
 
 Willie regarded the picture with a grin. 
 
 " I heard ye was gettin' tooken," he said. 
 
 " Dae ye recognize it, Wullie? " 
 
 " Ay. It's kin' o' comic, but it's like ye." 
 
 "Comic, laddie! What's comic aboot it?" 
 asked Mr. Redhorn in a voice of indignation 
 mingled with shame. " There's twa things I've 
 never been in fifty years: firstly, the worse o' 
 drink; secondly, comic." 
 
 " Weel, maybe it's no' comic," said the boy, 
 who once in a while seemed to realize that he 
 could hurt his master's feelings. " I meant for 
 to say it was funny." 
 
 " Funny ! Me funny ! " Mr. Redhorn 
 emitted a dolorous cackle. " Ye'll be sayin' 
 next that I'm handsome guid-lukin', ye 
 ken." 
 
 " I wudna say that," said Willie promptly. 
 " But it's no' as funny as I heard it was," he
 
 HIS CHARITY 79 
 
 added, as he endeavoured to remove a sticky 
 finger-mark from the surface of the photograph 
 by the simple process of rubbing it in. 
 
 " Dinna fash yerseP, Wullie," said his 
 master wearily. " I tell't ye there was naething 
 to spile. But but what dae ye see that's 
 funny aboot the caird? " 
 
 " I think it's yer nose," Willie replied, after 
 the question had been repeated. 
 
 " Ma nose ? . . . Weel, I canna help ma 
 nose. Was it no' the great Lord Nelson that 
 used to say : ' Gi'e me a man wi' a nose '? " 
 
 "Had a' his men lost their noses?" queried 
 Willie, much interested. " Did they lose them 
 wi' bullets or swords?" 
 
 " Na, na, Wullie ; ye see, his lordship meant 
 a man wi' wi' great intelligence. It has been 
 asserted by philosophers, philogists, an' ither 
 learned bodies, that muckle noses indicate 
 muckle brains. It's no' for me to preshume to 
 question men o' that stamp ; I can but humbly 
 accep' the assertion an' the compliment. D'ye 
 see, laddie?" 
 
 " I see," said Willie, who wanted to get on 
 with his bread and jam, but who was not un- 
 used to his master's dissertations. " Has an 
 elephant got a muckle brain?" he asked sud- 
 denly. 
 
 " Stupendous," the painter replied, after a 
 brief hesitation. 
 
 " I never seen an elephant excep' in pictur- 
 books."
 
 80 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 " Did ye no' ? We'll ha'e to rectify that some 
 day," said Mr. Redhorn kindly. 
 
 " I wud like fine to see an elephant. ... 
 I suppose ye've got an extra big brain, Maister 
 Ridhorn?" 
 
 For a moment Joseph was taken aback. 
 Then with modest gratification he said : " Weel, 
 laddie, it's no' jist for me to say. What pit 
 that into yer heid? Eh?" He laughed and 
 laid a kindly hand on his apprentice's shoul- 
 der. 
 
 " I heard a chap sayin'," returned Willie 
 thoughtlessly, " that Maister Banks had said 
 ye wud pass for an elephant if yer nose was 
 twa-three inches longer." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn's hand left the young shoul- 
 der and gripped the back of the boy's 
 chair. 
 
 " Ay ! " he said at last ; " ay ! Jist so ! 
 'Mphm! I perceive his meanin'; likewise the 
 humour o' the seetuation ! Ay ! " 
 
 "What's ado?" asked Willie anxiously. 
 
 "Naething, laddie," replied Mr. Redhorn, 
 pulling himself together. " A mere fleetin' 
 spasm." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 " May ye never ken." Mr. Redhorn en- 
 deavoured to proceed in a natural tone of 
 voice, and began an octave too low. After a 
 bit of coughing he said : " An' so ye think 
 ma likeness is funny, Wullie espaycially the 
 the trunk?"
 
 HIS CHARITY 81 
 
 " I dinna see ony trunk. Are ye sittin' on it? 
 I see a thing like a boax " 
 
 " I meant ma nose." 
 
 Willie laughed loudly. " The elephant's " 
 
 " Ye're welcome," said the painter. " When 
 ye're feenished, I'll be gratified to hear what 
 ye conseeder funny aboot ma nose." 
 
 But Willie had suddenly become uncomfort- 
 able. 
 
 " I dinna see onything funny aboot yer nose, 
 Maister Ridhorn," he said stolidly. 
 
 "D'ye see onything peculiar? Come on, 
 laddie; I want the truth. I I demand it." 
 
 " It it luks as if it was oot o' jint," said 
 the boy at last ; " it luks as if it had been 
 streetched." 
 
 " Proceed ! " 
 
 " It it luks ridder nor it is, sir." 
 
 " Conteenue ! " 
 
 But Willie rebelled. "Am I no' to feenish 
 ma tea?" he inquired, laying down the photo- 
 graph. 
 
 Whatever he might be, Mr. Redhorn was 
 humane. He returned to earth, with a bump. 
 
 " 'Deed, ay, Wullie ; ye're to feenish yer tea. 
 Help yersel'. Eat a' ye can. Enjey yersel' 
 when ye're young. Tak' mair jam tak' plenty. 
 ... I like ye, laddie. Ye've nae sentiment, 
 an' ye're no' a flatterer. As I said afore, I per- 
 ceive the humour o' the seetuation. I see 
 what Danks an' his companions are laughin' 
 at. Let them laugh! I'm laughin' masel'."
 
 Here Mr. Redhorn made curious noises which 
 all but caused Willie to choke. " I say I'm 
 laughin' masel', but at them, no' wi' them. I'm 
 laughin' wi' peety at their eegnorance, at their 
 want o' common, scienteefic, photographic 
 knowledge. They're laughin' at ma likeness be- 
 cause they think ma nose is oot o' oot o' pro- 
 portion; whereas, as ony summer- veesitor, or 
 tourist, or amature photographer wud inform 
 them, ma nose is merely oot o' focus oot o' 
 focus, neither mair nor less ! " 
 
 Mr. Redhorn concluded his remarks, which 
 were spoken with great rapidity, with a fright- 
 ful cackle; then snatching up the photo- 
 graph and dashing round the table, he thrust 
 it along with the other eleven prints into the 
 fire. 
 
 Having stirred them till they blazed, he ad- 
 dressed them with these words : " Him that 
 laughs best, laughs last ! " He then made to 
 draw himself erect, with the intention, no 
 doubt, of delivering a further oration before 
 his astonished apprentice, but his head en- 
 countered the mantelpiece which, fortunately, 
 was of wood. 
 
 " Criftens ! " he ejaculated. 
 
 " Are ye hurtit? " inquired Willie. " Is't yer 
 crust?" 
 
 " Ye best speir at the mantelpiece," returned 
 the painter ruefully, rubbing the bruise. 
 " What was I sayin', laddie, afore I dunted ma 
 heid ? " he asked presently.
 
 HIS CHARITY 83 
 
 "Ye was sayin' a heap o' things. Ye 
 said " 
 
 " Forget them, laddie ! I was cairried awa'. 
 Ma indignation got the better o' me, but I sud 
 ha'e corkit it up." Mr. Redhorn wiped his eyes, 
 and continued : " Efter a', an' when a's said an' 
 done, there's naething like a bit pheesical pain 
 for causin' ye to neglec' mental agony. Is 
 there a lump on ma heid ? " 
 
 " It's wee yet," answered Willie, " but it'll 
 maybe rise." 
 
 " That's possible." Mr. Redhorn came to the 
 table, and applied a little butter to the bruise. 
 " It's guid for the hair onywey," he remarked 
 philosophically. " See an' tak' plenty jam, 
 Wullie." 
 
 "The pot's emp'y." 
 
 " Is't? 'Deed, ye're a whale for jam! Wait 
 till I get anither pot. . . . An' ye needna 
 mention the photographs to onybody. Wull ye 
 mind that?" 
 
 " Ay," said the boy. " Wull I no' say ony- 
 thing aboot yer nose bein' oot o' focus what's 
 a focus ? " 
 
 " Say naething whatever. Dumb folk never 
 get into trouble, excep' when they're deef for- 
 bye, an' then they can aye blame the motors." 
 
 "But what's " 
 
 " Pey attention to yer eatin'," said Mr. Red- 
 horn a trifle sharply. " Regaird ma previous 
 remarks as merely humorous, as the young 
 man said to the young leddy efter declarin' his
 
 84 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 passion. But if ye ever happen to see a wee 
 man wi' ginger whuskers an' a photographic 
 stock-in-trade snokin' aboot Fairport, inform 
 m wi'oot fractional delay." 
 
 " Ay," said Willie, finding the new jam much 
 to his taste. " Are ye for gettin' tooken 
 again ? " 
 
 " Maybe as a murderer, Wullie, maybe as a 
 murderer," muttered the painter, as he lit a 
 cigarette. 
 
 "Gor!" remarked the apprentice, who was 
 used to extraordinary observations, which he 
 did not always understand, from his host, " it's 
 you for the comic ! " 
 
 After which Mr. Redhorn relapsed into a 
 gloomy silence that lasted until Willie an- 
 nounced his sense of repletion and the neces- 
 sity for his departure. 
 
 To a man of Joseph Redhorn's sensitive na- 
 ture, the situation was fraught with misery. 
 Ordinary chaff he could endure, but to have 
 his likeness, or rather caricature, as he re- 
 garded it, exposed in the fishmonger's window 
 was too much to be borne. Knowing his 
 enemy's spitefulness of old, he could not doubt 
 that Danks would carry his threat into effect, 
 and he racked his brains in vain for ways and 
 means of escape from the approaching humili- 
 ation. W T orst of all he had visions of Willie's 
 widowed mother, for whom he had now a more 
 than friendly regard, joining the sniggering
 
 HIS CHARITY 85 
 
 throng on Christmas day. It was all he could 
 do to attend to his business, and his nights 
 were spent in impatient writhings and frantic 
 concocting of plans, which fell to pieces in the 
 light of the day. 
 
 On the day before the fulfilment of the fish- 
 monger's threat, he was near his wits' end. 
 The weather being wet and stormy, and busi- 
 ness non-existent, he was occupying his hands, 
 but not his mind, in tidying up his paint store. 
 His weary brain was still weaving flimsy, 
 foolish schemes for the checkmating of the 
 fishmonger. 
 
 " It's nae use/' he said at last, for the 
 hundredth time. 
 
 Just then Willie, who had been sent to fetch 
 a parcel from the midday steamer, appeared. 
 He had evidently been running. 
 
 "Whaur's the paircel, laddie? Did it no' 
 come wi' the boat?" Mr. Redhorn demanded. 
 
 " Ay, but I cam' to tell ye that Ginger 
 Whuskers is cominV 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 " Ginger Whuskers the photograph man 
 d'ye no' mind ye tell't me " 
 
 " Is he comin' here ? " 
 
 " Ay. I heard him speirin' for ye. But he 
 hadna got his machine." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn drew a mighty breath. Then 
 he said: "Ye can gang hame to yer dinner 
 noo, Wullie." 
 
 " But it's ower early."
 
 " Gang hame when I tell ye." 
 
 " But the paircel 
 
 Gang ! " 
 
 Willie sulkily withdrew round the corner of 
 the shed. 
 
 " Better wantin' witnesses," muttered Mr. 
 Redhorn, and shut the door softly. He then 
 took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and 
 doubled his fists. " I never yet struck man nor 
 beast," he reflected, " but " 
 
 A timid tap fell on the door. 
 
 " Come ben ! " commanded the painter 
 hoarsely. 
 
 The door opened slowly. The bitter blast 
 that entered was accompanied by the dripping 
 figure of a man of mean stature and deplorable 
 physique. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn was seized with a violent attack 
 of sneezing. 
 
 " Cold day," said the visitor, closing the 
 door. " I called 
 
 "What d'ye want?" Mr. Redhorn demanded 
 from behind a large red handkerchief, with 
 considerably less ferocity than might have been 
 expected. 
 
 " I called," repeated the visitor mildly, " to 
 see how you were pleased with your photo- 
 graphs." 
 
 " What ! Ha'e ye actually got the neck to 
 to " Another sneeze cut the sentence short. 
 
 The dripping figure held up a bluish hand. 
 " Mr. Redhorn, allow me to say that I took
 
 HIS CHARITY 87 
 
 special pains with your photograph, on ac- 
 count of your great kindness to me. Honestly 
 I did all I could to make the result gratifying 
 to you. I assure you " 
 
 Mr. Redhorn put away his handkerchief, but 
 forgot to double his fists. 
 
 " Dae ye want to get kilt? " he exclaimed. 
 
 " I beg your pardon? " 
 
 " Kilt slain slaughtered murdered ! I'm 
 askin' ye ! " 
 
 The other drew back. " I don't understand," 
 he said, looking more puzzled than alarmed. 
 " I called, hoping that the photos had pleased 
 you, and hoping also that you would see your 
 way to give me your kind order for another 
 dozen, on the same terms as last cash with 
 order. Things," added the little man with a 
 large sigh, " are terrible bad with me at 
 present." 
 
 It took Mr. Redhorn nearly a minute to re- 
 cover from the stupefaction induced by the 
 visitor's calm, melancholy speech. 
 
 " That's enough," he said sternly. " I'm no' 
 as saft as some folks maybe think me. Ye've 
 got a' ye'll ever get frae Joseph Ridhorn, ex- 
 cep' a sample o' corporeal punishment, which 
 I've decidet to owe ye in the meantime. Noo, 
 get oot o' this as quick as ye can, for yer 
 presence to me is onything but tasteful." Mr. 
 Redhorn waved his hand towards the door, and 
 inadvertently kicked over a pot of green paint. 
 " See what ye've made me dae," he went on ir-
 
 88 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 ritably. " Could ye no' ha'e been content wi* 
 pittin' ma nose oot o' focus, forbye " 
 
 " Mr. Redhorn," said the little man, with 
 an involuntary shiver, " I appreciate your 
 jokes, but I'm sorry I can't make any myself 
 to-day. You were kind to me once; I hope 
 you will be the same again by giving me a re- 
 peat order. I would gladly offer you a new 
 sitting, but well, I'm ashamed to say that 
 my camera is at present in in pawn. As I 
 said already, things are very bad with me at 
 present. I I do not know where to turn. 
 I have a wife and three children, Mr. Red- 
 horn " 
 
 The painter, engaged in mopping up the mess 
 of paint, did not raise his head. " That's a 
 peetifu' state o' affairs, but I doot I canna 
 dae onything for ye," he said. " In fac' I'm 
 no' disposed to forgi'e ye. What business had 
 ye," he demanded abruptly, " to sell that caird 
 o' mines to Banks, the fishmonger?" 
 
 The dripping figure seemed to waver. 
 
 " I'm sorry if that offended you, Mr. Red- 
 horn," it said feebly, at last. " But Mr. 
 Banks declared he was a particular friend of 
 yours " 
 
 "Oh, the lee!" 
 
 " and I was tempted. . . . The truth is, 
 I was very hungry that day. I had missed 
 breakfast, and " 
 
 "Ye was what?" The painter looked up 
 sharply.
 
 HIS CHARITY 89 
 
 The wretched little man bowed his head. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn rose. 
 
 " Are ye hungry the noo ? " 
 
 There was no answer. 
 
 " Tell me, man ! crif tens ! Ye're fair 
 drookit! ha'e ye had yer breakfast the day?" 
 
 " N not yet." 
 
 "Joseph Ridhorn," the painter muttered, 
 "never daur to ca' yersel' a Christian again." 
 Seizing the photographer by the arm, he flung 
 open the door. " Come awa', man ! Ma hoose 
 is near by." 
 
 Willie, the eavesdropper, went home to his 
 dinner grievously disappointed. He had ex- 
 pected something much more exciting. 
 
 The afternoon steamer bore away the photog- 
 rapher, no longer dripping and starving, but 
 warmed and filled; no longer despairing, but 
 hoping. Before leaving Fairport, he had tried 
 to recover the photo from Banks, who had 
 flatly refused to part with it. Mr. Redhorn 
 did not go to see him off, being threatened with 
 a cold in the head, which malady in his case 
 was invariably severe. He sat by the fire, try- 
 ing old-fashioned remedies, while depression 
 claimed him for its own. The miseries of 
 others do not always prove antidotes to one's 
 own. The mind's eye of Joseph Redhorn was 
 exclusively occupied by a vision of the fish- 
 monger's window and his likeness in the midst 
 thereof.
 
 90 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 At five o'clock Willie appeared. 
 
 "What d'ye want, laddie?" inquired the 
 painter impatiently. 
 
 " Ye said I was to come for ma tea the 
 nicht." 
 
 "Mercy! So I did !" 
 
 " an' Danks said I was to gi'e ye this." 
 
 "What's this?" Mr. Redhorn tore off the 
 soiled newspaper and disclosed his own fea- 
 tures according, as he afterwards said, to the 
 camera. " Weel, I never! " he shouted joyfully. 
 " I didna think it o' Danks. Did he say nae- 
 thing, Wullie? Nae message?" 
 
 " He said ye was to luk at the back." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn turned the card, and read in 
 large writing 
 
 "Hopping you will have a merrier X-mas than you 
 look. P. DANKS." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn laughed, sneezed, and laughed 
 again. 
 
 " Wullie," he cried almost gaily, " set the 
 table, an' I'll bring ye back something nice." 
 
 Grabbing his cap, he fled from the house, and 
 to the shop of Peter Danks. 
 
 " Danks," he said warmly, " ye're a better 
 man than I thocht." 
 
 " Ye're nae worse, Ridhorn," returned Mr. 
 Danks coolly. " I doot ye've seen the last o' 
 yer twa pounds an' yer overcoat," he added. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn blushed. " He didna need to 
 ha'e tell't ye that."
 
 HIS CHARITY 91 
 
 " Weel, I'm thinkin' ye've lost them onywey." 
 
 " We'll see," said the painter cheerfully. 
 " Time alane can tell, as the poet says." After 
 some hesitation he held out his hand. 
 
 " As ye please/' replied the fishmonger. 
 " But mind, I'm no' feenished wi' ye yet, Rid- 
 horn." 
 
 " I'll risk that," Mr. Redhorn returned, and 
 shook hands again. 
 
 People with abnormally developed business 
 instincts may desire information as to whether 
 the itinerant photographer ever returned the 
 loan. Well, no; he has not yet done so in 
 mere filthy lucre, at least; but about a couple 
 of years after the transaction, Mr. Redhorn 
 received a nicely mounted enlargement of his 
 likeness, some 3ft. by 2ft. in extent, along with 
 compliments and also some more or less in- 
 teresting details concerning the costs of frames 
 suitable for the aforesaid enlargement.
 
 VII 
 HIS YOUTH 
 
 MB. REDHORN looked up from his 
 work a large four-oared boat in 
 process of being painted white. 
 
 " Wullie," he said a trifle sternly, " pey at- 
 tention to yer job, an' dinna heed the sea- 
 gulls." 
 
 " I wasna lukin' at the sea-gulls," the ap- 
 prentice retorted. 
 
 " I thocht ye was. What was ye lukin' at, 
 then?" 
 
 " Naething." 
 
 " Aweel," said Mr. Redhorn after a short 
 pause, "ye better luk at the boat-hoose, be- 
 cause it's got to be feenished the nicht. I 
 promised Maister Matheson I wud complete 
 the job, certain, sure, at sax p. m. an' it's got 
 to be done! The word o' a Ridhorn has never 
 been broke excep', maybe, under unique cir- 
 cumstances. The pentin' tred has, dootless, a 
 bad name for procrastination " 
 
 "What's that, Maister Ridhorn?" 
 
 " Hunkerslidin', or or footerin'. But I can 
 truthfully say I never practised it intentional. 
 Apply yersel' to yer task, laddie, an' ye'll be 
 92
 
 HIS YOUTH 93 
 
 happy. Dae yer best, an' ye'll never be con- 
 foundit, nor ashamed to receive peyment o' 
 yer accoonts when due or itherwise." 
 
 " Are folks whiles ashamed to get peyment o' 
 their accoonts?" the apprentice inquired, with 
 a view to prolonging the conversation. 
 
 " Some folk'll be sair ashamed later on," 
 said Mr. Bedhorn solemnly. " Some folk'll 
 no' be extra pleased to meet their customers in 
 the next warld, I'm thinkin'! Strive to gi'e 
 yer customers when ye get them the best 
 value possible, an' then ye'll avoid disagree- 
 able reunions ayont the tomb. Noo proceed wi' 
 yer occupation." 
 
 Mr. Kedhorn dipped his brush, preparatory 
 to resuming operations. 
 
 " This is an awfu' ugly colour," remarked 
 Willie, eyeing his own paint-pot with great 
 disfavour. 
 
 " Ugly ! " exclaimed his master, wheeling 
 round, brush poised in the air. " What's ugly 
 aboot it?" 
 
 " I dinna like dark broon," said the boy. 
 " If this was ma boat-hoose, I wud pent it a 
 bonnier colour." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn smiled leniently. 
 
 " That's because ye're young, Wullie. In the 
 days o' ma youth, I daursay I wud ha'e con- 
 seedered dark broon ugly enough, an' I wud 
 ha'e been for pentin' the boat-hoose saumon- 
 pink, or sky-bew, or maybe pea-green. Youth 
 prefers the fancy colours to the suitable sort.
 
 Later on ye'll ken better what's appropriate an' 
 what's unappropriate. But, as a rule, ye'll ha'e 
 to lay on the colour yer customer chooses. I'm 
 no' sayin' ye sud never advise a customer 
 agin makin' a spectacular monstrosity o' his 
 property. In ma time, I can modestly say I've 
 saved mony a pairty frae his or her atrocious 
 notions. But it's got to be done wi' the ut- 
 maist discreetion, laddie, the utmaist discree- 
 tion. There's occasions when it's best to 
 agree espaycially when it's a big job an' jist 
 dae whatever the customer requests ye to dae, 
 though ye're weel aware that ye're creatin' an 
 eyesore that'll haunt ye for years. In the 
 meantime, pey attention to yer present 
 duty." 
 
 " But, Maister Ridhorn, is it a' the same to 
 you whether ye're pentin' wi' bonny colours or 
 pentin' wi' ugly yins ? " 
 
 " There's nae ugly colours, laddie. In the 
 days o' ma youth, I maybe thocht there was, 
 but ye get wicer as ye get aulder. Noo 
 
 " But wud ye be jist as pleased to be pentin' 
 the hoose dark broon as the boat white ? " 
 
 "Jist as pleased, Wullie, jist as pleased. 
 For ye see " 
 
 " Then I wish ye wud swop pents, an' let me 
 ha'e a shot at the boat." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn shook his head, saying 
 
 " Ah, but ye're no' ready for marine pentin' ; 
 ye ha'ena suffeecient experience. Ye maun be 
 content wi' plain jobs for a while, yet."
 
 HIS YOUTH 95 
 
 " Did ye never get pentin' a boat when ye 
 was young in the days o' yer youth ? " 
 
 " I did an' a queer mess I made ! It tak's 
 a heap o' practice to mak' a nice job o' a boat. 
 But noo we maun draw wur conversation to 
 a close, as the novelles say. We'll need to tak' 
 ten meenutes less nor usual to wur dinner the 
 day. Nae man can say that Joseph Kidhorn 
 chairged him for wastit time." 
 
 " But, Maister Ridhorn " 
 
 " Haud yer tongue, an' dae yer duty," said 
 the master-painter, with a touch of asperity. 
 
 For half an hour or so they wrought in 
 silence. At last, however, Willie had to give 
 vent to the idea which had been unsettling his 
 mind all morning. 
 
 " There a menagerie at Ardmartin the day," 
 he remarked, in an extremely careless tone of 
 voice. 
 
 " A what?" said Mr. Redhorn, without stop- 
 ping work. 
 
 " A menagerie wild beasts, ye ken," said 
 Willie, not quite so carelessly as before. 
 
 The interest evinced by Mr. Redhorn was 
 disappointingly small. 
 
 " Aw," he muttered. 
 
 " It's to be at Ardmartin jist for the day," 
 the boy observed, after a short pause. " It's 
 gaun awa' the morn." 
 
 "Is it?" 
 
 " I wish it had been stoppin' till Seturday." 
 
 " 'Deed ay," said Mr. Redhorn equably.
 
 96 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 " Some o' the Fairport chaps are gaun to see 
 it this efternune," the boy pursued, with a 
 stealthy glance at his master, who was now 
 quite immersed in his work. " Bob M'Fee is 
 drivin' them a' in his cairt. He sterts at twa 
 o'clock." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn offered no remark upon this 
 piece of information. 
 
 Willie sighed, and made a few unenthusiastic 
 strokes with his brush. Then 
 
 " Bob M'Fee askit me to gang in his cairt, 
 Maister Ridhorn." 
 
 "Did he? . . . This boat's vera licht for 
 its size. Maister Matheson wud pey a guid 
 penny for it when it was new. . . . Hoo are 
 ye gettin' on there, laddie ? " The painter put 
 the inquiry without raising his eyes. 
 
 " Weel enough," replied Willie, in a rather 
 sulky voice. 
 
 A silence followed, during which he did some 
 extremely poor painting, and then he spoke 
 again. 
 
 " Maister Ridhorn, did ye ever see a 
 menagerie ? " 
 
 "Oh, ay, I've seen a menagerie sundry 
 menageries, to be exac'." 
 
 "Did ye like them?" 
 
 " Fine ! Menageries is exceedin'ly instruc- 
 tive." 
 
 " I've never seen a menagerie." 
 
 "Ha'e ye no'? But ye're young yet ye're 
 young yet."
 
 HIS YOUTH 97 
 
 " Did ye no' get seein' ony menageries when 
 ye was young in the days o' yer youth ? " 
 
 " Oh, ay ; I seen them when I was young. I 
 may say I was a great lover o' menageries in 
 the days o' ma youth, Wullie. In fac', I was 
 ower fond o' them. I mind plunkin' the schule 
 to gang to a menagerie, an' anither time I ran 
 awa' frae ma wark I was servin' ma appren- 
 ticeship then to see a circus. Ma maister was 
 unco angry at me." 
 
 Willie let his brush sink deep in the pot, 
 and asked eagerly 
 
 " Did he gi'e ye the kick? " 
 
 " Na ; but I deserved it." 
 
 " I suppose he was a kind man, Maister 
 Eidhorn?" 
 
 " He was that. But I was a bad laddie." 
 
 " Ye wasna that bad, Maister Ridhorn." 
 
 The painter smiled. 
 
 " Weel," he said modestly, " I presume I was 
 jist like ither laddies. Youth maun ha'e its 
 fling, as the poet says." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn relapsed into busy silence, and 
 until dinner time one o'clock his assistant 
 also painted industriously. 
 
 " Mind an' be back here at ten meenutes 
 afore twa," said the former as they parted. 
 
 Joseph Redhorn's temper was usually of the 
 mildest, but it so happened that he was suf- 
 fering on this particular day from an attack of 
 dyspepsia, induced, in all probability, by a
 
 98 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 somewhat incautious consumption of pancakes 
 the previous evening. The pancakes, by the 
 way, had been a present from the comely 
 widow, Willie's mother. Dyspepsia was an old 
 enemy of Joseph's, but for a considerable time 
 he had baffled it, as he was fond of declaring, 
 with the aid of a certain patent medicine. 
 Therefore, its return depressed as well as pained 
 him, and, though not of a romantic disposition, 
 he could not help wishing that the cause of 
 his discomfort had come from other hands. 
 
 As he resumed work in the hot October sun- 
 shine, at a quarter to two, he regretted his 
 faithful promise to his customer, Mr. Mathe- 
 son. His eyes ached and his temples throbbed. 
 But his undistinguished visage wore a look of 
 grim determination, and for half an hour he 
 wrought steadily and conscientiously, telling 
 himself that Willie's delay in returning was 
 doubtless due to the lad's mother, who had no 
 one else to help her with odd jobs. He also 
 assured himself that Willie, once Tie heard of 
 the dyspepsia, would do his level best to make 
 up for lost time. Mr. Redhorn had frequently 
 found his apprentice idle and careless, but 
 never unsympathetic. 
 
 Yet when three o'clock came with no sign 
 of Willie the painter could not have denied 
 that he was extremely annoyed. Standing up- 
 right and pushing back his cap, he clutched his 
 aching brow and gazed down the yellow road 
 that ran along the shore in the direction of the
 
 HIS YOUTH 99 
 
 boy's home. The road was empty. Willie had 
 not even left the cottage. Mr. Redhorn emitted 
 a groan of dissatisfaction, and once more ap- 
 plied himself to his task. 
 
 He was soon disturbed, however, and by his 
 other old enemy, Mr. Peter Banks. 
 
 He came along the shore towards the painter 
 as one who is rather pleased to be the bearer 
 of unpleasant tidings. Some people are like 
 that. 
 
 " Ye're busy, Ridhorn," he remarked, halting 
 a couple of yards from the boat, and surveying 
 Joseph with a patronizing grin. 
 
 " Ay, I'm busy," said the painter, curtly. 
 
 " But no' ower busy to gi'e yer apprentice a 
 hauf-holiday." 
 
 " Eh? " Mr. Redhorn started and looked up, 
 then resumed his painting in a hurry. 
 
 " I'm sayin' ye're no' ower busy to gi'e yer 
 apprentice a hauf-holiday," pursued Mr. Banks. 
 " I seen him along the road there, gettin' into 
 M'Fee's cairt, boun' for Ardmartin." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Mr. Redhorn, " d-d-did ye? " 
 
 " Ay, as clear as I see that boat ye're pentin'. 
 I'm thinkin', Ridhorn, ye'll kill that laddie wi' 
 kindness. I maun say I was surprised to see 
 him aff on the ran-dan when his maister was 
 sae busy." 
 
 " Aw ! " muttered Mr. Redhorn, conscious 
 that the other's small, sharp eyes were keenly 
 watching him. 
 
 " Of course, I'm presumin' the laddie got
 
 100 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 leave to gang to Ardmartin. I thocht o' 
 speirin' at his mither when I was passin' the 
 cottage, but " 
 
 Joseph pulled himself together. Not for 
 worlds would he have Banks know the true 
 state of affairs. He knew that Banks still 
 resented his having made Willie his appren- 
 tice; he was aware that Banks had once been 
 snubbed by Willie's mother; and he was used 
 to Banks's innuendoes against the boy's char- 
 acter. 
 
 " There's naething extr'or'nar' in Wullie 
 gaun to see the menagerie at Ardmartin is 
 there?" he asked, not quite steadily, meeting 
 the small sharp eyes, which were immediately 
 shifted. 
 
 " Menagerie ! " Mr. Banks burst into a high 
 cackling laugh. " Menagerie, did ye say? " 
 
 " Ay, I said menagerie if ye ken what that 
 is." said Mr. Redhorn ; adding sarcastically, " I 
 suppose an aquarium's mair in your line ! " 
 
 But Mr. Banks continued to cackle for 
 nearly a minute. 
 
 " My ! that's a guid yin ! " he exclaimed at 
 last. " They've made a mistake aboot the day. 
 The menagerie was at Ardmartin yesterday. 
 Guid kens whaur it is noo! M'Fee an' the 
 rest o' them'll be wild they'll ha'e a menagerie 
 o' their ain. It wud serve yer apprentice richt, 
 supposin' he had ta'en French leave the day 
 an' left ye wi' mair wark nor ye can feenish 
 by yersel'! Eh, Ridhorn?"
 
 HIS YOUTH 101 
 
 Joseph recoiled. 
 
 " Wh-wha was tellin' ye I had mair wark nor 
 I could feenish ? " he demanded. 
 
 " Oh, it's jist a bit joke that's gaun aboot 
 Fairport the day. Maister Matheson, on the 
 pier this mornin', said to a freen' that he wud 
 eat his hat if Ridhorn the penter had the boat 
 an' boat-hoose feenished the nicht. He said a' 
 penters was alike at makin' fair promises." 
 
 At these words Joseph became scarlet with 
 indignation. 
 
 " So ye see," said Danks, grinning, " that was 
 why I was surprised at ye lettin' yer assistant 
 aff the day. For ye canna feenish the job yer- 
 seP." 
 
 " Ay, but I can ! " spluttered Joseph. 
 
 " Na, ye canna ! It'll be dark afore seeven 
 the nicht. Onybody wi' hauf an e'e could see 
 that ye canna feenish it. If ye dae feenish it, 
 the pentin' '11 be improperly executed. I'll tak' 
 on a bet, if ye like, Ridhorn." 
 
 " Oh, get awa' f rae me ! " cried the unhappy 
 painter. 
 
 " What wey did ye no' keep the laddie at his 
 wark?" Mr. Danks inquired, coolly proceeding 
 to light his pipe. " It's a peety to disapp'int a' 
 the folk that was waiting to see Maister 
 Matheson eatin' his hat this evenin'. But I 
 suppose ye're used to apologizin' for unavoid- 
 able delays " 
 
 " That's enough, Danks ! " shouted Joseph, 
 now thoroughly roused. " Ye've had to apolo-
 
 102 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 gize for yer fish afore noo. Mind yer ain busi- 
 ness, and I'll mind mines ! Get oot ma sicht ! " 
 
 Mr. Banks retired a couple of paces, took a 
 pull or two at his pipe, spat, and put the 
 question direct 
 
 " Did ye gi'e the laddie leave to gang to 
 Ardmartin?" 
 
 " It's nane o' your business, man ! " 
 
 " It's a ceevil question." 
 
 " I've nae time for conversation." Mr. Red- 
 horn dipped his brush and bent over the boat. 
 
 " I dinna believe ye let him gang." 
 
 " It's nae odds what ye believe, Peter Danks. 
 Awa' hame an' pey attention to yer fish that's 
 to say if they're no' entirely beyond human 
 aid." 
 
 " Ye'll be the laughin'-stock o' Fairport the 
 nicht," retorted Danks, and strolled away. 
 
 In the dusk, Mr. Redhorn endured the good- 
 natured banter of Mr. Matheson and two of 
 the latter's friends, and, after their departure, 
 the broader jibes of several of his neighbours. 
 He painted doggedly until he could no longer 
 see what he was doing, and then reluctantly 
 quitted the scene of his labours, feeling beaten 
 and affronted. 
 
 Within his bachelor apartment he drank 
 some hot w r ater and ate some dry bread, while 
 he sadly eyed a fresh pot of jam purchased for 
 the enjoyment of Willie, whom he had intended 
 inviting to tea that evening.
 
 HIS YOUTH 103 
 
 " This ends it," Mr. Redhorn bitterly re- 
 flected. " This time I canna forgi'e him, even 
 for his mither's sake. She'll ha'e to get him a 
 job wi' somebody that's stricter nor me. I've 
 excused him a score o' times, but he's gaun 
 ower the score this time. I'm done wi' him. 
 I'll dismiss him first thing the morn's mornin'. 
 If he had the impiddence to show face the 
 nicht, I believe I wud lift ma haun' to him, an' 
 I've never done that to man nor beast. Aw ! to 
 think the laddie wud treat me like this, efter 
 a' the chances he's had." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn further added to his wretched- 
 ness by brooding on the probable results of the 
 lad's dismissal. While it would be a sad blow 
 to the widow, it would doubtless prove a rich 
 delight to Peter Banks; and Joseph was as 
 averse from causing the least trouble to the 
 one as from giving the slightest satisfaction to 
 the other. Banks would never let him hear 
 the end of it. Nevertheless, Joseph repeated to 
 himself that he was done with Willie. At the 
 same time he remembered that, after all, Willie 
 had missed the menagerie as if that were an 
 extenuating circumstance! 
 
 About eight o'clock, his bodily misery having 
 abated considerably, he endeavoured to settle 
 his mind by reading a back number of the 
 " Easy chair Novels." As a rule, Mr. Redhorn 
 quite lost himself in such pages, but on this 
 occasion the customary charm seemed to be 
 lacking. The tormented hero and distracted
 
 104 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 heroine thrilled him not at all. In the midst 
 of the villain's worst threats he looked 
 anxiously at the door, listening. 
 
 He was afraid Willie might come after all; 
 and he was unprepared to deal with the young 
 sinner. He thought of going out for a long 
 walk, but, on the other hand, he was unpre- 
 pared to meet his jocular neighbours. 
 
 On the homeopathic principle, perhaps, of 
 applying a counter-irritant, he got out a tat- 
 tered ledger and pored over the accounts there- 
 in. But even the most overdue amongst them 
 failed to produce sufficient irritation, and he 
 went back to the novelette. 
 
 Five minutes later he flung it away, with the 
 muttered remark: 
 
 " Pah ! Thae leddies an' gents in stories 
 dinna ken what real meesery means. Oh, 
 Wullie, ye scamp, what wey could ye no' dae 
 yer duty? But I'll warrant ye I dae mines, 
 when I gi'e ye the kick the morn's mornin' ! " 
 
 Just then there was a knock at the door a 
 soft apologetic knock. 
 
 " Oh, mercy ! " breathed the painter, " is that 
 him? . . . I'll pretend I'm no' in." Then he 
 remembered that the lamp-light would be 
 visible under the door. 
 
 The knock was repeated, a little louder. 
 
 " Be a man, Joseph ! " said the painter to 
 himself, rising as though rheumatism had 
 claimed him for its own. 
 
 He went to the door as if walking on eggs.
 
 HIS YOUTH 105 
 
 Without opening it, he coughed and put the 
 somewhat unnecessary question in a hoarse 
 whisper 
 
 " Is onybody there ? " 
 
 " It's me Mistress McWattie Wullie's 
 mither," came the reply. " I wud like a word 
 wi' ye, Maister Ridhorn ! " 
 
 "Oh, me! This is awfu'!" was his 
 inward comment, as he opened the door. 
 " Wull ye step in, Mistress McWattie?" he 
 said aloud. 
 
 The comely widow stepped in and, without 
 delay, said 
 
 " I'm sorry to disturb ye, Maister Ridhorn, 
 but Wullie wudna rest till I gaed wi' his mes- 
 sage. He had an accident." 
 
 " A what? " exclaimed Joseph. 
 
 " He fell frae M'Fee's cairt on the road hame 
 frae Ardmartin, an' " 
 
 "Oh! . . . Is he sair hurtit?" gasped the 
 painter, turning pale. 
 
 " Sair, but no' serious, I'm thenkfu' to say," 
 replied the widow. " He twistit his ankle an' 
 cut his haun' on the road, an' I'm feart he'll 
 no' be fit for his wark the morn " 
 
 "But is he sufferin'?" 
 
 " He's easier noo. But he's vexed, an' so am 
 I, that " 
 
 " Ye're sure it's no' serious?" 
 
 " Oh, ay. The doctor says it'll no' be lang 
 till he's better. Did ye gi'e him leave to gang 
 to Ardmartin, Maister Ridhorn? He said nae-
 
 106 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 thing aboot that, an' I hope he hasna been 
 daein' onything to displease ye." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn stroked his long nose and 
 smoothed his scanty hair ere he replied 
 
 " I I made nae objections to him gaun to 
 Ardmartin, Mistress McWattie. An' did ye 
 say he was easier noo?" 
 
 " Ay. I'm gled he wasna daein' onything 
 wrang. But I maun gi'e ye his message," said 
 the widow, presenting an envelope. " He wrote 
 it doon, though it hurt him to write. He said 
 it was a private secret I'm sure it's the first 
 he ever kep' frae his mither," she added, laugh- 
 ing a little sadly. " But ye've been a great 
 benefactor to ma laddie, Maister Ridhorn." 
 
 Joseph took the envelope, and, going close to 
 the lamp, opened it. 
 
 On a sheet of paper was written in a school- 
 boy hand the following: 
 
 ' ' MR. J. REDHORN, painter, etc. , Fairport. 
 
 "Sire, I am very sorry I went to Ardmartin on the sly. 
 There was no mennagery. I fell out the cart and hurt my 
 foot and hand. I hope you will forgive me for doing so. 
 You told me you done the same when in the days of your 
 youth. Please do not give me the kick as your master 
 should have done. With kind regards, 
 
 " Your faithfull apprentice, 
 
 " W. M'WATTIE." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn put the letter in his pocket, and 
 cleared his throat. He realized that the widow 
 was looking at him curiously. He reddened. 
 
 " I'm greatly obleeged to ye," he said. " This
 
 HIS YOUTH 107 
 
 letter was to remind me o' something I had 
 forgot, Mistress McWattie. Wullie's a rale 
 clever writer. Is is there onything I can dae 
 to help ye an' him? He's no' to fash hisseP 
 aboot his wark. Tell him that." 
 
 " Thenk ye," she returned. " Ye're rale kind. 
 I'll gi'e him yer message. He said I was to 
 ask ye for an answer." 
 
 " Weel, that's ma answer he's no' to fash 
 
 hissel'. An' an' this " Mr. Redhorn 
 
 took from the table the fresh pot of jam and 
 forced it into the widow's protesting hands 
 " this is the rest o' ma answer." 
 
 Presently she made to take her departure, 
 saying 
 
 " I doot ye're ower kind to Wullie, Maister 
 Ridhorn. He's a wild laddie, an' I'm feart he 
 whiles gi'es ye a heap o' trouble." 
 
 "Oh," said Joseph cheerfully, "it's no' 
 worth the mention. He's young. He's aye 
 learnin'. In the days o' ma youth I was 
 jist the same maybe waur. 'Deed, I daur- 
 say I was a lot wilder. Ay, was I ! I was 
 a reg'lar wee rascal in fac', I was a fair 
 demon ! " 
 
 " Aw, I'm sure ye wasna, Maister Ridhorn ! " 
 
 " Ah, but I was ! I was jist a a perfec' 
 deevil! excuse me. Thur pancakes ye sent 
 me per yer son was deleecious maist sumptu- 
 ous entirely " Here Mr. Redhorn became 
 
 confused. 
 
 " I'll bid ye guid-nicht/' said the comely
 
 108 WULLIE McWATTIE'S PIASTER 
 
 widow. " An' thenk ye for a' yer kindness to 
 Wullie." 
 
 " He's welcome. Could I could I get seem' 
 him the morn's nicht, think ye?" 
 
 " He wud be prood to see ye. Come an' tak' 
 yer tea wi' us." 
 
 She was gone ere he had stammered all his 
 thanks. He would have liked to escort her, 
 but even at fifty he was shy. 
 
 He closed the door softly and went back to 
 the fire, rubbing his hands with satisfaction. 
 
 " Puir laddie ! " he murmured. " He's been 
 punished enough. I'm gled it's no' serious." 
 
 He took out Willie's letter and re-read it. 
 
 " In the days o' ma youth," he sighed . . . 
 then laughed. " But I'm no' a Methuselah 
 yet!"
 
 VIII 
 HIS NEW YEAR QUEST 
 
 MR. REDHORN had taken the journey 
 to Glasgow with a single purpose in 
 view the purchase of a New Year 
 card. It must not be supposed that Fairport 
 was so benighted that such an article could not 
 be obtained in the village. As a matter of 
 fact, the local post-office window had been gay 
 for weeks with Christmas and New Year greet- 
 ings " in styles and at prices which would be 
 found to compare favourably with any in the 
 city." 
 
 But Joseph Redhorn shrank from entering 
 the post-office for anything more sentimental 
 than postage stamps and stationery. And he 
 wanted to send a card for the New Year to the 
 comely widow, Mrs. McWattie. He was old- 
 fashioned enough to reserve his good wishes 
 and congratulations for the first of January. 
 
 " I wudna think twice aboot gaun in, if it 
 was a comic caird I was seekin'," he reflected. 
 " But it's no' a comic caird I'm wantin', an' I 
 couldna endure Peter's scrutiny. Peter wud 
 mak' a blackamoor rid i' the face jist wi' lookin' 
 at him." 
 
 109
 
 110 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 So about three o'clock on a wet afternoon, 
 Mr. Redhorn stood before a large window in 
 Argyle Street, Glasgow, surveying the cards 
 which remained hanging within, though Christ- 
 mas Day was past. 
 
 " It's a mercy it's wat," he said to himself. 
 " If it had been fine, some o' the Fairport folk 
 wud ha'e been in Glesca for certain, an' I wud 
 ha'e got detectit afore noo. Tits ! " he ex- 
 claimed a little irritably, as the umbrella of a 
 passerby tipped his hat over his nose. " I wish 
 I had pit on ma saft bunnet. This pot hat's a 
 perfec' fiasco." With both hands he drew it 
 down till his head ached, and resumed his 
 contemplation of the cards. 
 
 " It's no' jist as easy as I thocht it wud be," 
 he told himself at the end of twenty minutes. 
 " The cairds is richt enough, but nane o' the 
 remarks is exac'ly suitable. A Happy New 
 Year is correc', but it's no' oreeginal. A Bright 
 an' Prosperous New Tear is maybe mair 
 oreeginal, but it doesna soun' nateral. A Quid 
 New Tear is honest, but it's kin' o' plain. For 
 Auld Lang Syne is a nice motto, but it's a wee 
 thing conveevial for ma purpose. A New Tear 
 Greetin' weel, there's mair weys o' greetin' 
 nor the yin, an' I wudna like ma meanin' to be 
 disconstrued." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn stroked his nose and sighed. 
 
 " The warst o' poetry is that it whiles hasna 
 suffeecient meanin', an' whiles has ower
 
 HIS NEW YEAR QUEST 111 
 
 muckle." He eyed a card whereon were printed 
 the following lines in purple and gold 
 
 " Old friends are best, and so I send 
 An old friend's wish to you, old friend. 
 May choicest blessings from above 
 Be yours, with human joy and love ! " 
 
 " It's no' bad, but it's no' jist suitable. 
 She's no' that auld, an' neither am I. ... 
 What does thon yin say ? " He strained his 
 eyes and read 
 
 " May New Year's Day be spent in fun 
 With turkey, pies, and currant bun ! " 
 
 " Oh, that's no' the thing ava' ! What's the 
 use o' spendin' yin day in fun, when it means 
 that ye'll spend maybe three days in meesery, 
 if no' acute agony? ' Turkey, pies, an' currant 
 bun ! ' Criftens ! What a conglomeration to 
 mak' a poem aboot! A body wud think tur- 
 keys was to be had for the askin'. But I sup- 
 pose that caird is intendit for gentry. . . . 
 Thonder anither. Aw, I canna mak' it oot. 
 The writin's ower fancy it's a' curly-wurlies 
 an' flourishes. Here anither." 
 
 " With loving and hearty 
 Wishes for your happiness 
 And prosperity in 
 The Coming year." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn read the lines three times very 
 carefully. " Aw, that's no' a nice like thing 
 to dae to prent a thing to look like poetry,
 
 112 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 when it's jist or'nar' readin'. That's what I 
 ca' a rank deception." 
 
 He was turning to another card, when a mes- 
 sage boy bearing a heavy basket passed. The 
 corner of the basket caught him in the ribs 
 and caused him to stagger and gasp. 
 
 " Can ye no' look whaur ye're gaun, laddie? " 
 said Mr. Redhorn wrathfully. 
 
 " Ye wis blockin' the pavement," retorted the 
 boy cheekily. 
 
 "I was what?" cried the painter, stepping 
 forward. 
 
 "Och, awa' hame an' eat turnips!" With 
 these words, which were accompanied by a 
 most impudent grin, the boy disappeared in the 
 crowd, leaving Mr. Redhorn paralyzed with 
 indignation. 
 
 " Eat turnips ! " he muttered at last. 
 "What -" 
 
 A young man in a hurry ran into him, 
 apologized briefly, and fled. Mr. Redhorn stag- 
 gered lightly against an elderly woman, 
 stepped back, and collided rather heavily with 
 an old gentleman. 
 
 " I beg yer 
 
 " Blundering idiot ! " spluttered the old gen- 
 tleman, giving the painter a violent push. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn, furious, reeled into the door 
 of the shop before whose window he had stood 
 so long. 
 
 " Come away, now. Out of this ! " cried the 
 shopkeeper.
 
 HIS NEW YEAR QUEST 113 
 
 Regaining his balance, Joseph stared. 
 
 " Out of this ! " cried the shopkeeper again. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " What do you want ? " the shopkeeper 
 asked in a milder tone. " I see you're all 
 right, but from the way you came in I thought 
 you were " He paused and smiled sug- 
 gestively. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn did not, however, respond to 
 the smile. Drawing himself up, he glared 
 across the counter, and in a loud, though high 
 and quavering voice, said haughtily 
 
 " I was intendin' to buy a New Year caird aff 
 ye, but noo that I've inspec'it them, I wudna 
 tak' yin o' yer uglies in a gift. Keep them till 
 February, an' they'll dae fine for mock valen- 
 teens." 
 
 And feeling very hot, but not altogether un- 
 happy, he quitted the shop. 
 
 He found another shop, and decided to enter 
 without viewing the stock of cards in the 
 window. 
 
 A bright-eyed young woman hastened to wait 
 upon him. 
 
 " I was wantin' a New Year caird," he said, 
 and suddenly felt uncomfortable. The young 
 woman's eyes were so bright that she seemed 
 to be inwardly amused. 
 
 "What kind of card would you like?" she 
 inquired pleasantly. 
 
 " Weel," said Joseph slowly, " I've no' jist
 
 114 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 decidet. . . . Er What kin' o' cairds ha'e 
 ye got ? " he asked with a sudden and happy 
 inspiration. 
 
 The young woman indicated several trays 
 containing cards at different prices, and in- 
 vited Mr. Redhorn to make his choice. Mr. 
 Redhorn, with fingers that trembled, began to 
 turn over the cards. The young woman as- 
 sisted him, now and then holding up a card for 
 his inspection. He wished that a customer 
 would come in to occupy the young woman's 
 attention till he made his selection. Then it 
 occurred to him that he would have to exhibit 
 his choice to her in the long run. Already he 
 felt that she had guessed his guilty secret. She 
 would persist in holding up cards with some- 
 thing about " love " on them. He blushed till 
 his collar began to feel sticky at the back. 
 
 " This is a very pretty one threepence," 
 said the young woman. " It's a most artistic 
 card." 
 
 Joseph was compelled to look at it. It was 
 really a dainty thing, and inside the following 
 couplet was clearly printed 
 
 " The New Year comes ! I think of thee, 
 And pray that you may think of me ! " 
 
 " There isn't a prettier card in the box," said 
 the young woman. 
 
 " Thenk ye ; but I think I'll ha'e this yin," 
 said the painter hoarsely. " What's the 
 price?"
 
 HIS NEW YEAR QUEST 115 
 
 " A penny." She looked disappointed. 
 
 Joseph produced the coin. " Never heed 
 paper," he said, and stuffing the hideous 
 " comic " picture of a fat pig into his pocket, 
 he rushed from the shop. 
 
 " I've pit her aff the scent onywey," he re- 
 flected as he sought another shop. " I wudna 
 wonder if the lass kent me by sicht. There's 
 that mony picnics to Fairport in the simmer." 
 
 In the third shop he purchased a lead pencil 
 from a youth near the door rather than risk 
 being attended to by a girl further along the 
 counter. 
 
 " I'll ha'e a keek in first," he said to himself 
 on reaching a fourth shop. 
 
 The sight of an elderly and severe-looking 
 lady encouraged him, and he entered. 
 
 " I was wantin' a New Year caird," he said, 
 and smiled broadly and foolishly from sheer 
 nervousness. 
 
 " These are a penny each," said the lady 
 solemnly, laying a tray of " comics " before 
 him. 
 
 " Aw ! " said Mr. Redhorn helplessly. 
 
 " Are these not what you want? " The lady's 
 voice was almost threatening. 
 
 "Ay, this'll dae fine." The painter chose a 
 grotesque representation of a nigger in a snow- 
 storm, paid his penny, and hurried away. 
 
 " I'll gi'e the comics to Wullie," he told him- 
 self, as he walked rapidly over the greasy pave-
 
 116 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 ments in the dismal drizzle. " I never thocht I 
 wud ha'e sic' a deeficulty in buyin' a roman- 
 tic caird. I doot I'm no' brazen-faced enough 
 for the operation. But I'll get the correc' caird 
 yet!" 
 
 Presently he came to a shop whose pro- 
 prietor called himself a newsagent, stationer, 
 and tobacconist. At the moment of Joseph's 
 entry the proprietor was a tobacconist at any 
 rate, he was smoking a cigarette and talking 
 to another man about a horse. 
 
 He gave Mr. Redhorn an inquiring glance. 
 
 " I was wantin' a New Year caird," said 
 Joseph, using the now familiar formula. 
 
 " Choose your pick," returned the proprietor, 
 pointing to a revolving holder. He then re- 
 sumed his conversation about the horse. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn glanced at his watch. He 
 would have to make haste to choose, if he 
 wanted to catch his train. 
 
 A column of post-card actresses smiled at 
 him, so he made the holder revolve ; whereupon 
 a column of ministers looked at him, he fancied, 
 reprovingly ; then more actresses. 
 
 " Whit kin' o' gemm is this ? " he mut- 
 tered crossly, and turned the holder rather 
 harshly. 
 
 A sheaf of cards fell at his feet. 
 
 " Canny, man ! " remarked the proprietor. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn restrained himself, picked up 
 the cards and returned them to their niches. 
 
 " Keep on revolving," observed the pro-
 
 HIS NEW YEAR QUEST 117 
 
 prietor; " it'll not get giddy." And he went on 
 chatting with his friend. 
 
 Joseph was rewarded at last. He came upon 
 some quite attractive cards. 
 
 " I best no' tak' yin wi' poetry," he thought. 
 " I've nae time to analyze it." 
 
 And he fixed on a card tied with pale blue 
 ribbon. 
 
 " I'll tak' this yin." 
 
 " Fourpence. It's a dear card, but it's 
 printed in real gold on genuine ivory. Here's 
 an envelope." The proprietor took Mr. Red- 
 horn's sixpence, handed him twopence, and re- 
 turned to talking about the horse. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn ran for his train, and caught it 
 with exactly twelve minutes to spare. There 
 were few travellers that afternoon. 
 
 Shortly after the train had started he took 
 from his breast pocket the envelope containing 
 the card. 
 
 He extracted the card. He smiled with 
 gentle satisfaction. 
 
 " I never seen a bonnier New Year caird," 
 he said to himself. " I wudna say but what 
 she'll like it. I hope she'll no' tell Wullie, 
 though. . . . Ay, it's a rale pretty pictur on 
 the ootside. An' it's maybe as weel no' to ha'e 
 ower muckle prentin' in the inside. Criftens! 
 I've never lookit at the inside." 
 
 He opened the card, and read 
 
 A MERRY CHRISTMAS.
 
 IX 
 HIS SPECTACLES 
 
 O, Joseph," said the Kinlochan doctor, 
 smiling, " it isn't your old enemy, 
 dyspepsia. You may take my word 
 for that." 
 
 " I'm relieved to hear ye say it, Doctor," the 
 painter returned. " It wud ha'e been a sair 
 disapp'intment to be informed I had gotten 
 dyspepsia again, efter near twa month o' im- 
 punity frae the same, no' to mention twinty- 
 odd bottles o' meddicine at twa shillin's the 
 bottle. Ay, I'm greatly relieved, but but, if 
 ye please, what's gi'ein' me that nesty wee pain 
 in ma heid? I hope it's no' ony disorder o' ma 
 ma brain. That wud be waur nor ma auld 
 affliction." 
 
 " Oh, your brain's all right. But you've been 
 straining your eyes. I'll give you a note to a 
 friend of mine a specialist in Glasgow, and 
 he will test your sight and give you a prescrip- 
 tion for glasses suitable to your case." The 
 doctor sat down at his table and picked up a 
 pen. 
 
 " Glesses ! " gasped Mr. Redhorn, grabbing 
 the back of a chair. 
 
 118
 
 HIS SPECTACLES 119 
 
 " Or spectacles, if you prefer them. Prob- 
 ably spectacles would be more convenient for 
 your work." 
 
 " Oh, Doctor, am I gaun blin' ? " 
 
 The doctor looked up and laughed reassur- 
 ingly. " Nonsense, man ! Your eyes will serve 
 you to the end of the chapter, but they require 
 a little protection and assistance, as do the 
 eyes of thousands of younger men than you. 
 How old are you ? " 
 
 " Fifty-twa, accordin' to the certeeficate o' 
 ma birth, whereon it is statit that Joseph Rid- 
 horn " 
 
 " All right, Joseph. Your eyes will serve 
 you till you're a hundred. Don't worry about 
 them." He proceeded to write the note, and 
 Mr. Kedhorn watched him, keeping silence with 
 difficulty. 
 
 " There," said the doctor, handing him the 
 note in an addressed envelope. " Doctor Evans 
 will soon put you right, and I've no doubt, if 
 you ask him, he'll show you a picture which 
 will explain why you require spectacles, and 
 what a simple matter it is after all." 
 
 "Thenk ye, thenk ye, Doctor," replied the 
 painter, taking the letter gingerly. " Ye're 
 vera kind, an' I'm greatly obleeged to ye. But 
 but could ye no' gi'e me a bottle for ma 
 sicht?" 
 
 The doctor checked a laugh. " There are 
 some cures that cannot be put in bottles, 
 Joseph," he said gravely.
 
 120 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 "Or peells?" Mr. Redhorn asked, clinging 
 to a straw. " I'm a perfec' marvel for takiu' 
 meddicine in ony shape or form, an' in ony 
 quantity. Ye can rest assured that I'll tak' 
 onything ye like to mix, wi' the utmaist regu- 
 larity, though the taste wud baffle description. 
 Please, Doctor " 
 
 " My good man, be reasonable. Do you think 
 that, if I could help you, I would send you to 
 another doctor? And I have already given 
 you my word that your sight will remain first- 
 rate, if you only give it a little assistance and 
 protection. Don't you believe me? " 
 
 "Ay, Doctor. It's no' that I'm feared o' 
 lossin' ma sicht," said Mr. Redhorn in deep 
 dejection. " It's " He paused. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Weel, Doctor," the painter stammered, 
 " did ye did ye ever see a penter wi' specs ? " 
 
 " I can't remember that I have," the doctor 
 replied. " But no doubt, many painters use 
 them." 
 
 "I never seen a penter wi' specs. Never!" 
 said Mr. Redhorn dismally. " In ma opeenion 
 a penter wi' specs wud be a a monstrosity." 
 
 " Am I a monstrosity ? " asked the doctor, 
 smiling through his glasses. 
 
 " You're no' a penter, if ye'll excuse me savin' 
 it. An' I'm tellin' ye that Joseph Ridhorn wi' 
 specs'll be the laughin' stock o l Fairport." 
 
 " Nonsense, Joseph ! Fairport will get used 
 to the spectacles as soon as you will which
 
 HIS SPECTACLES 121 
 
 will be in less than no time. You can't sacri- 
 fice your sight to a little thing like that. 
 Really," added the doctor chaffingly, " I had no 
 idea you were so conceited, Joseph." 
 
 " It's no' consate, Doctor," the painter dully 
 replied. " But I've aye had an objection to 
 bein' unique in ony wey. I never set up to be 
 an Adonis ony mair nor a a gladiator, for 
 example; but I've an ambeetion to get through 
 this warld wi'oot attractin' public attention by 
 or'nar'. Hooever," he went on, " if Providence 
 has decreed that Joseph Ridhorn is to dae the 
 rest of his pentin', paper-hangin', an' decoratin' 
 wi' specs on his nose, there's nae use makin' ony 
 ootcry. I'll gang to Glesca the morn's mornin', 
 Doctor, an' if ye hear o' a riot in Fairport on 
 ma return, ye'll ken the reason. Guid-day to 
 ye, an' thenk ye kindly for yer advice an' this 
 letter." 
 
 " Good-bye, Joseph, and I expect to hear soon 
 that you have found the spectacles a great 
 help." 
 
 " Weel, weel, I hope they'll prove a blessin' 
 in disguise," said Mr. Redhorn, not very hope- 
 fully, and, putting his hat on his sparsely cov- 
 ered head, he took his departure. 
 
 During the four-mile walk from Kinlochan 
 to Fairport he brooded upon the subject, and 
 so increased his depression. He was a modest, 
 bashful creature, and had an intense horror 
 of ridicule. The Fairport folk, especially the 
 youngsters, knew his weakness, and took fre-
 
 122 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 quent and full advantage of it. Joseph prayed 
 that the oculist would prescribe nothing worse 
 than clear spectacles. " Guid kens what I'll 
 dae if I've got to weer bew yins or the kind like 
 wee meat-safes." 
 
 He reached home in a nervous condition, and 
 made a poor evening meal, forgetting for the 
 first time in eighteen months to take his dose 
 of physic. 
 
 About eight o'clock Willie McWattie arrived. 
 
 " Weel, what is't ye want, Wullie? " he asked 
 a trifle impatiently. 
 
 Willie looked hurt. " Ye said I was to come 
 the nicht, Maister Ridhorn." 
 
 "Did I? Weel " 
 
 " I was to get a lesson at the grainin'." 
 
 " 'Deed, so ye was ! " cried the painter, self- 
 reproachful. " It was stupit o' me to forget, 
 laddie, but I didna mean it. Rin roon' to the 
 shed here the key an' bring the board an' the 
 pots an' the rags that ye'll see on the shelf 
 ablow the winda. I pit them there to be ready 
 for ye, afore I gaed to Kinlochan the day. 
 Canny wi' the wee pot o' vernish it's near the 
 brim. An' I'll sune gi'e ye a lesson." 
 
 Willie sped on his errand, and returned with 
 the articles required. 
 
 " It wud ha'e been better in daylicht," Mr. 
 Redhorn observed as he lit the lamp. " But 
 we canna ha'e everything. Can we, Wullie? " 
 
 " Na," said Willie carelessly. 
 
 " It's a peety when man has got to use the
 
 HIS SPECTACLES 123 
 
 artifeecial for want o' the nateral. Eh, Wul- 
 lie? " 
 
 " Ay," replied the boy absent-mindedly, his 
 eyes on the painted board. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn sighed, picked up a brush, and 
 proceeded with the lesson. 
 
 " Weel, I think ye've got a bit notion o' the 
 art o' grainin', Wullie," said the painter, an 
 hour later. " I'll gi'e ye anither lesson some 
 ither nicht, an' I'll get ye a board to practise 
 on. Practice mak's perfec'! Mind that, Wul- 
 lie." 
 
 " Did you practise a lot when ye was young, 
 Maister Ridhorn? " 
 
 " I did that, Wullie." 
 
 " An' hoo lang did it tak' ye to get perfec' ? " 
 
 " Oh, a lang time, laddie, a lang, lang time." 
 
 "A month, Maister Ridhorn?" 
 
 "A month! Criftens! A month!" 
 
 "Sax month?" 
 
 " Years, Wullie, years an' years ! " cried the 
 painter. 
 
 Willie looked disappointed and picked up his 
 cap. " It's time I was gaun hame," he said. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn suddenly departed from his in- 
 tention of giving his apprentice a little lecture 
 on " Practice and Perfection." 
 
 " Wullie," he said abruptly, " did ye ever see 
 a penter pentin' wi' specs on ? " 
 
 For a moment the boy gaped with astonish- 
 ment. Then he shook his head, and said : " I
 
 never seen ony penter but yersel', Maister Kid- 
 horn." 
 
 " Hoo dae ye think a penter wud luk wi' 
 specs on, Wullie?" 
 
 " Kin' o' comic-like," replied Willie, after a 
 glance at his master. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn turned away to hide his scarlet 
 countenance. 
 
 "Ye best gang hame noo, Wullie," he said, 
 controlling his voice. " Ye needna come to yer 
 wark the morn's mornin', for I'll no' be here. 
 I I'm gaun to the toon to to become kin' o' 
 comic-like." 
 
 The cap slipped from the boy's fingers. 
 
 " Ye're gaun to get specs ! " he exclaimed, 
 making for the door. But he took courage and 
 halted halfway. " I I didna mean that you 
 wud be what I said," he whispered. " As sure 
 as onything, I didna, Maister Ridhorn." 
 
 " I accep' yer apology," said Mr. Redhorn 
 with melancholy dignity, touched by his ap- 
 prentice's evidently sincere regret. Whatever 
 the boy's faults were, his master had not found 
 disloyalty one of them. 
 
 " Plenty folk weers specs," remarked Willie, 
 regaining confidence. " It's jist the young yins 
 that looks comic-like." 
 
 " I'm no' exactly a Methuselah, Wullie," the 
 painter returned with a wan smile. 
 
 Willie missed the point but caught the smile, 
 such as it was. " Ye'll be able to see furder wi' 
 specs," he said cheerfully.
 
 HIS SPECTACLES 125 
 
 Mr. Redhorn sighed. " I doot I'll create a 
 sensation in Fairport," he muttered. 
 
 " Eh? " said Willie, the remark escaping him. 
 
 " Aw, naething, laddie. Awa' hame wi' ye. 
 Bide a meenute ! Here yer wages. I forgot the 
 morn was Seturday. Ye'll no' be late on Mon- 
 day mornin' ? " 
 
 " Nae fears ! Thenk ye," said Willie, taking 
 the silver. " But but ye've gi'ed me a shillin' 
 ower mony." 
 
 " That's a rise, Wullie," said the painter 
 kindly. " Ye can tell yer mither I'm pleased 
 wi' ye." 
 
 Willie knew very well that he did not deserve 
 any advance in his wages, but that knowledge 
 did not detract from his gratitude, and he men- 
 tally registered a vow to do better in future. 
 Had he registered all vows of that nature for 
 the last twelve months in a book, it would 
 have shown a startling number of entries, but 
 after all, the ordinary boy's good intentions 
 should be regarded as stepping rather than 
 paving stones. 
 
 " I hope yer mither's weel," said Mr. Red- 
 horn, " an' no' workin' ower hard. Help her a' 
 ye can, Wullie. The only son o' a weeda has 
 great responsibeelities, but his reward'll be a' 
 the greater. Guid-nicht, Wullie, an' dinna for- 
 get a' yer lesson at grainin'." 
 
 It was a dirty evening. A heavy sea rolled 
 up the loch, and the south wind carried lash-
 
 126 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 ing squalls of rain. In the dusk the steamer 
 had some difficulty in taking the pier. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn stood in the lee of the deck- 
 house, and watched the shore with mis- 
 givings. Few people were out of doors, 
 but to the nervous painter the few seemed 
 legion. 
 
 " What a day ! " he said to himself. " Sea- 
 eeeck in the mornin'. Then gettin' ma sicht 
 testit wi' a maygic lantern an' ither fearsome 
 contrivances but he was a kind man, a' the 
 same. Then gettin' ma specs fittit on by an 
 impiddent young chap that stared at ma nose 
 as if it was a curiosity, an' tell't me I was 
 extremely difficult for to fit. Then eatin' a 
 plate o' mince gey tasty, I admit, but no' the 
 thing for me in ma disturbed condeetion. Then 
 lossin' ma train, an' waitin' three 'oors for the 
 next. Then an 'oor of meesery on the boat. An' 
 noo noo to appear afore the public of Fairport 
 as a monstrosity, a comicality, a penter wi' 
 specs on his nose ! " Mr. Redhorn groaned. 
 " But I'm no' gaun to shrink frae the ordeal. 
 An' the suner it's ower the better. Here 
 goes ! " 
 
 From an innner pocket he produced a leather 
 case, from which, with chilled fingers, he ex- 
 tracted the new spectacles. 
 
 " Nesty dangerous things ! " he muttered, as 
 he adjusted them. " I near pit the spoke in 
 ma e'e instead o' ower ma ear. Bless me, 
 they're blin' wi' the rain a'ready ! " He took
 
 HIS SPECTACLES 127 
 
 them off and wiped them; replaced them, and 
 pulled his hat over his brows, bending his head, 
 to protect the glasses from the rain. 
 
 The steamer was warped to the pier at last, 
 and rose and fell on the heavy swell. The gang- 
 way was put out from the paddlebox, and the 
 purser shouted : " All for Fairport, quickly, 
 please." 
 
 To his horror Mr. Redhorn realized that he 
 was the sole passenger for Fairport. With a 
 supreme effort of will he prevented his hand 
 from tearing off the spectacles. He stumbled 
 up the steps of the gangway, and handed the 
 purser his spectacle case. 
 
 " Ticket, ticket ! " cried the official impa- 
 tiently, and Mr. Redhorn, with incoherent 
 apologies, made the necessary exchange. 
 
 " Noo for the jeers o' the populace," he mut- 
 tered to himself, dashing past the men holding 
 the pier end of the gangway. 
 
 The piermaster, along with several villagers, 
 awaited him at the covered exit. 
 
 Joseph Redhorn's knees almost failed him. 
 There was yet time to remove the spectacles, 
 but he clenched his hands till the case in one 
 of them cracked, and went forward, his head 
 held low against a rain squall. 
 
 Suddenly the piermaster's lantern shone in 
 his face. 
 
 "Weel, I'm blest!" exclaimed the pier- 
 master, "if I didna think ye was Professor 
 Fisken that was here in the summer. Look at
 
 128 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 him, lads," he added to the villagers. " Is he 
 no' rale like the Professor? " 
 
 " The vera image ! " 
 
 "Dod, it's extr'ornar' ! " 
 
 " I never seen onything like it ! " 
 
 " He micht be the Professor's twin-brither ! " 
 
 Such were the replies to the piermas- 
 ter's query. Nobody laughed. Nobody even 
 smiled. 
 
 " I suppose it's ma specs," said Joseph, very 
 bashfully. 
 
 " Nae doot," said the piermaster. " But I 
 didna ken ye needit specs, Joseph. I hope 
 there's naething serious wrang wi' yer sicht, 
 man." 
 
 The others expressed similar sympathetic 
 aspirations. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn, almost overcome by his kindly 
 reception, repeated, more or less correctly, the 
 great oculist's diagnosis, and assured his 
 neighbours that, with the aid of the spectacles, 
 his eyes were good for ever. 
 
 Whereupon his neighbours congratulated 
 him. 
 
 " We'll ha'e to ca' ye l Professor,' Joseph," 
 said the piermaster with pleasant jocularity. 
 " Ye sud be rale prood to be the vera image o' 
 yin o' the greatest scientists in a' the warld. 
 But ye'll be wantin' hame. Ye're drookit. 
 Guid-nicht, Professor, an' I'm pleased to hear 
 it's naething serious." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn paid his penny and went his
 
 HIS SPECTACLES 129 
 
 way, followed by good-natured cries of " Guid- 
 nicht, Professor." And he went with his head 
 high and a smile on his undistinguished coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 Professor Fisken, the renowned electrician! 
 The summer visitor who had won the hearts of 
 all Fairport with his homely ways and unas- 
 suming generosity! If such a man wore spec- 
 tacles, who was Joseph Redhorn that he should 
 scorn them? 
 
 On reaching his lonely dwelling the painter 
 lit the lamp and rushed to the tiny mirror be- 
 fore which he shaved his thin cheeks and 
 brushed his scanty hair. 
 
 Yes! There was no doubt about it. The 
 likeness was quite remarkable. Mr. Redhorn 
 could not sing, but he whistled as he stirred 
 the fire and put the kettle on. 
 
 Next day being Sunday he went to church, 
 not so confident until neighbours began to 
 congratulate him on his resemblance to the 
 great man and on the fact that his eye-trouble 
 was not serious. 
 
 " Professor Ridhorn " became forthwith a 
 household word in Fairport, and the painter 
 neither made nor felt the slightest objection. 
 And when, during the first few days, the chil- 
 dren were crazy to acquire the cast-off wires 
 of aerated-water bottles, in order that with 
 " specs " constructed from the same they might 
 play at being " Professor Ridhorn," the painter
 
 130 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 took it all in good part and patted each little 
 head while he held his own a trifle higher. 
 
 " I like ye best in specs, Maister Ridhorn," 
 said Willie shyly, as he and his master set out 
 to a job on the Monday. 
 
 "What wey that, Wullie?" inquired his 
 master, also rather shyly. 
 
 " They gar ye look awfu' kind," said Willie. 
 "Jist as kind as ye are," he added with an 
 effort. 
 
 Willie may have been unoriginal, but he was 
 not insincere, when he quoted the words that 
 he had heard his mother say the previous after- 
 noon.
 
 HIS NEIGHBOURS' DEEDS OP 
 KINDNESS 
 
 MB. JOHN GORKIE sat up in his chair 
 and gaped at his visitor, Mr. Bob 
 Smilie, the laziest jobbing gardener in 
 Fairport. 
 
 " Ye're tryin' to cod me," he said at last. 
 " Ten pound ! I dinna believe it." 
 
 " It's the solemn truth," returned the visitor, 
 who five minutes ago had experienced some 
 difficulty in gaining admittance to the untidy 
 abode of his bachelor acquaintance. We do 
 not say " friend," because Messrs. Gorrie and 
 Smilie were not the sort of men who deal much 
 in friendship. 
 
 " It's the solemn truth," the latter repeated. 
 " As sune as the concert was by, the meenister 
 got up and says, says he : 'Ma dear f reen's, I've 
 a splendit announcement to announce to ye a' 
 wi' her leddyship's kind permeesion. Ye a' ken 
 what an interest Her leddyship tak's in 
 Fairport, an' hoo gled she is to see Fair- 
 port improvin' and gettin' mair respectable- 
 like '" 
 
 "Did he say that? For if he did, he's a 
 131
 
 leear," put in Mr. Gorrie, who did not approve 
 of ministers. 
 
 " He said something vera near it, onywey," 
 replied Mr. Smilie. " An' then he says, says 
 he: ' Ma dear freen's an' fellow Fairportonians, 
 her leddyship has a notion that Fairport can 
 be still f urder improved ; an', to encourage ye a' 
 to improve, she's wrote me this letter frae Lon- 
 don, offerin' twa prizes o' ten pound each yin 
 for adults an' yin for juveniles. An' the prizes 
 is to gang to the adult an' the juvenile that 
 does the kindest deed atween this date and the 
 end o' the year. I am to report a' the kind 
 deeds to her leddyship, wi'oot tellin' the names 
 of the deeders I meant for to say doers an' 
 she'll decide which gets the prizes; an' the 
 prizes'll be presentit on the first day o' the 
 New Year, at noon, prompt ! ' An' that's the 
 solemn truth, John Gorrie. What think ye 
 aboot it?" 
 
 " Her leddyship's daft," said Mr. Gorrie. 
 " But I suppose she'll keep her word." 
 
 "Oh, there's nae fear o' her no' cashin' up 
 when the time comes. I hope," Mr. Smilie 
 sniggered, " ye'll no' forget to mention ma kind 
 deed to the meenister, John." 
 
 "What d'ye mean?" 
 
 " Weel, was it no' a kind deed for me to come 
 here, stracht frae the concert, to tell ye aboot 
 the prize, so as ye could stert even wi' the ither 
 folk eh?" 
 
 "When I seen ye at ma door," said Mr.
 
 HIS NEIGHBOURS' KINDNESS 133 
 
 Gorrie, very dryly, " I had the notion that ye 
 had come to pey back the twa shillin's I lent 
 ye three year syne. I didna think ye wud ha'e 
 the neck to come to ma door wi' ony ither 
 reason. I confess I had a dram in me at the 
 time, itherwise I wudna ha'e been sae saft as 
 to trust ye." It should be mentioned that three 
 years previously Mr. Gorrie had retired from the 
 joys and sorrows of bricklaying on a legacy. 
 
 " Ach, man," returned Mr. Smilie, with a 
 hearty laugh, " what's twa shillin's ? Let by- 
 gones be bygones that's ma motto! I cam' 
 hurryin' here the nicht, missin' the chance o' a 
 bottle o' beer that Sandy M'Feat was thinkin' o' 
 staun'in', him bein' greatly affectit wi' the idea 
 o' kind deeds I'm sayin' I cam' hurryin' here 
 to gi'e ye the chance o' winnin' five pound ! " 
 
 " Five ! ye said it was ten pound ! " 
 
 " Ten pound dividet by twa is five. We're 
 the twa that'll dae the dividin'. Twa heids is 
 better nor yin d'ye see ? " 
 
 " It depends on the heids. But I see what ye 
 mean." Mr. Gorrie's tone was a trifle less un- 
 pleasant. He stroked his grizzled whiskers. 
 
 " Of course we maun keep it a secret." 
 
 " Keep what a secret ? " 
 
 " That you an' me is workin' in comp'ny." 
 
 " I thocht ye was gaun to say ye had a plan," 
 said Mr. Gorrie, looking disappointed. 
 
 Mr. Smilie rubbed his chin and grinned. 
 
 " I want yer word that ye'll no' betray me, 
 John."
 
 134 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 "What wud I betray ye for?" Mr. Gorrie 
 indignantly demanded. 
 
 "Ten pound," replied Mr. Smilie; adding, 
 " Hooever, I'll tmst ye." 
 
 " What's yer plan?" 
 
 Mr. Smilie suppressed a snigger. 
 
 " Man, it's that simple, John ! Can ye no' 
 guess ? " 
 
 " Nane o' yer chaff ! " retorted Mr. Gorrie, 
 whose imagination was limited. 
 
 " Weel," said the other easily, " ye needna 
 bite ma nose aff. The poseetion's jist this: 
 Afore fower weeks is by, ye've got to perform 
 an extra'ornar' deed o' kindness; but afore ye 
 can dae that, ye've got to find somebody to per- 
 form it on ! " 
 
 " That's easy done." 
 
 " Is it ? I tell ye, man, afore ye're a day 
 aulder, the folk in Fairport'll be tumblin' ower 
 each ither to perform deeds o' kindness. It'll 
 no' be a case o' gettin' folk to gi'e kindness ; the 
 deeficulty'll be to get folk to tak' it. D'ye see? " 
 
 " Maybe ye're richt ! " said Mr. Gorrie 
 dubiously. 
 
 " Ay, I'm richt ! An' this is whaur / come in, 
 ma f reen' ; this is whaur you get the advantage 
 o' yer neebours ! On condeetion that ye pay me 
 five pound on receipt o' the ten when ye get 
 it, of course I'm ready an' willin' to be per- 
 formed on! Ye can practise kind deeds on me, 
 John, to wnr mutual profit ! " And Mr. Smilie 
 grinned encouragingly.
 
 HIS NEIGHBOURS' KINDNESS 135 
 
 A growl came from Mr. Gorrie. 
 
 " An' ye think I'm gaun to dae kind deeds to 
 a man that's been owin' me twa shillin's for 
 three year? No' likely! Ye better gang hame, 
 Bob Smilie, an' " 
 
 Bob held up a grimy hand. 
 
 " But wait ! " he said in a soothing voice. 
 " There's a reason why you should perform the 
 kind deeds. I'm willin' to be the performer, 
 but kind deeds frae me wudna be greatly 
 noticed; whereas, if John Gorrie was to dae a 
 kind deed, Fairport to a man wud be that 
 astonished that the deed wud seem a hunner- 
 and-fifty times as kind as it really was! An' 
 afore ye stert operations, ye can tell everybody 
 hoo bad I treatit ye regairdin' that loan o' twa 
 shillin's, an' that'll mak' the kind deed look 
 even kinder. Is that no' veesible to yer naked 
 eye, as the sayin' is? " 
 
 " Ye're an impiddent character," said Mr. 
 Gorrie sulkily. " I'm an aulder man nor you ; 
 it's me that sud get the deed o' kindness." 
 
 However, after half an hour of wrangling, he 
 gave in on condition that his partner's share 
 of the profit should be subject to a reduction 
 of two shillings. 
 
 In comparative amity they forthwith pro- 
 ceeded to discuss details of the scheme pro- 
 pounded by Mr. Bob Smilie. 
 
 The prophecy of Mr. Smilie concerning 
 " ither folk " proved only too true. It was
 
 136 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 difficult, if not impossible, to discover in Fair- 
 port and its vicinity an individual willing to 
 accept kindness in any shape or form. Indeed, 
 several nasty quarrels occurred, and by the 
 third week in December the Reverend Mr. Shel- 
 broke was heartily wishing that her ladyship's 
 letter proffering the prizes had never been 
 penned. 
 
 It was now the day after Christmas, and 
 popular feeling was, to put it mildly, running 
 high. As someone expressed it, the folk were 
 " like flees bein' droonded in the mulk o' hu- 
 man kindness." So keen was competition be- 
 come that many of the vilagers, old as well as 
 young, finding it out of the question to do 
 anything for their fellows, had turned their 
 gentle attentions to the humbler forms of crea- 
 tion. Not a horse was made to hurry; dogs 
 were allowed all manner of liberties ; stray cats 
 were offered board and lodging, and practically 
 encouraged to steal ; even pigs were pampered. 
 Locally, fowls for culinary purposes were un- 
 obtainable under 5s. 6d. with an oath of 
 secrecy. The plumber, having a hen that had 
 injured its left leg, put the limb in splints, and 
 refused to leave its side, even when a pipe 
 burst in one of the villas. Everyone fed the 
 birds. Mr. Banks, the fishmonger, heaved sighs 
 over his wares, including the kippers and finnan 
 baddies, as if he were grieved for them. A little 
 girl was observed giving cream to a worm in 
 a disused tobacco tin. Two small boys spent
 
 HIS NEIGHBOURS' KINDNESS 137 
 
 the better part of a day in trying to coax a 
 trapped mouse to eat four ounces of cheese; 
 eventually they set it free in the baker's shop, 
 and the baker, after clenching his hands and 
 biting off a bad word, presented them with a 
 tart apiece, whereupon the small boys gaily 
 departed, promising to bring more mice on the 
 same terms. 
 
 The weather was mild for the time of year. 
 Joseph Redhorn, the painter, stood at his door, 
 meditatively smoking a cigarette of the worst 
 quality possible. But, as Joseph had more 
 than once pointed out, it was cheaper to be a 
 philosopher than a " connisewer." Business 
 was extremely slack, as was to be expected at 
 that season, and he had given his apprentice a 
 holiday. " Mind, Wullie," he had said, " if I 
 hear o' ye tryin' on ony deeds o' kindness, I'll 
 reconseeder gi'ein' ye a rise in yer wages at the 
 New Year. Awa' hame an' break sticks for yer 
 mither." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn was not competing for the 
 Deeds of Kindness Prize. He had been first 
 amused, then irritated, by his neighbours' out- 
 breaks of benevolence; nevertheless, he suc- 
 ceeded in restraining himself when anyone, as 
 frequently happened, dropped hints, more or 
 less obvious, of his or her latest " Deed." Some- 
 how the people, knowing that Joseph was not a 
 competitor, regarded him as a sort of recorder, 
 whose evidence might be valuable later 
 on.
 
 138 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 " A fine day, Mr. Ridhorn." 
 
 A middle-aged woman had paused in her 
 walk through the village. 
 
 " Ay, it's no' sae bad," he responded agree- 
 ably. 
 
 " I'm just takin' a new-laid egg to auld Mis- 
 tress M'Phedron," said the woman carelessly, 
 displaying the article named. " Puir body, I 
 doot she's no' lang for this warld." 
 
 " If she can manage an egg," observed the 
 painter, " she's no' that near to dissolution. 
 To me that's subjec' to dyspepsia, an egg means 
 meesery. It gars me desire naething but the 
 tomb." He blew a whiff and spat out a con- 
 siderable quantity of tobacco, and adjusted his 
 spectacles. 
 
 " Eggs is terrible scarce the noo," said the 
 woman, who was not interested in Mr. Red- 
 horn's physical economy. " If I was sellin' 
 mines, I could get twa-an'-nine the dizzen; but 
 I'm sorry for Mistress M'Phedron." 
 
 " Hens ha'e nae conscience this weather," re- 
 plied Joseph, ignoring the point; and the 
 woman, after a wistful look at him, passed on. 
 
 " Fairport's gaun to pot," he said to himself. 
 " I've seen the day when she wud ha'e gi'ed 
 awa' a dizzen o' her eggs, an' never let bug to 
 a livin' creature. . . . Fine mornin', John. 
 What's new wi' ye?" 
 
 This to Mr. Gorrie, who had strolled up, wear- 
 ing a conscious smirk on his naturally sour 
 countenance.
 
 HIS NEIGHBOURS' KINDNESS 139 
 
 " Ha'e ye got peyment o' yer twa shillin's 
 yet?" inquired the painter. 
 
 Mr. Gorrie became solemn. " Oh, whisht, 
 whisht ! " he said in a loud whisper. " Dinna re- 
 fer to that I'm sayin', dinna refer to that." 
 
 " Weel," replied Mr. Redhorn, surprised, " I 
 wudna ha'e referred to it, if you hadna been 
 referrin' to naething else for the last twa-three 
 weeks. 'Deed, I was under the impression that 
 it was yer chief interest in this life here be- 
 low; an' if Fairport hadna been ower busy 
 daein' deeds o' kindness, it wud ha'e been the 
 chief topic o' scandalous conversation. Has 
 Smilie peyed ye the cash ? " 
 
 "Oh, dinna mention cash, man; dinna men- 
 tion it! I canna bear the mention o' it. Ha'e 
 ye no' heard aboot Bob Smilie? " 
 
 " What? Has he done a slope? " 
 
 " Oh, man, man ! What wey dae ye think 
 evil aboot the puir body? D'ye ye no' ken he's 
 lyin' badly in ma hoose?" 
 
 " Lyin' badly in your hoose? 'Deed, I'm 
 sorry I spoke," said Mr. Redhorn, in mingled 
 astonishment and apology. " What's wrang 
 Has he met wi' an accident?" 
 
 Mr. Gorrie shook his head. " He was took 
 bad wi' lumbago in his kist the nicht afore 
 last" 
 
 " In your hoose?" 
 
 " No' exac'ly ; but there's a leak in the roof 
 o' his ain hoose, which is a meeserable, cauld 
 place forbye; an' I couldna but offer him ma
 
 140 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 am comfortable bed; an' there he's lyin' noo, 
 weel happit up, an' I'm daein' ma best for him. 
 He thinks he's a wee thing easier the day, an' 
 he had a notion for a pair o' kippers, so I cam' 
 alang to buy them." Here Mr. Gorrie paused, 
 as one who finds his conversation exhausted. 
 
 At last, Mr. Kedhorn said slowly : 
 
 " I can only say, John, that ye've acted un- 
 common weel." 
 
 " I couldna dae onything else," said Mr. Gor- 
 rie modestly. With an effort he met the other's 
 eye, but as it seemed somewhat cold, he im- 
 mediately became interested in the hills across 
 the loch. 
 
 " Ay ; ye've acted uncommon weel," repeated 
 the painter. " Is Smilie sufferin' ? " 
 
 " Agony ... at least, he's no' sae bad the 
 day. I wantit him to get the doctor; but he 
 was like a madman. He says it's agin his 
 releegion to deal wi' doctors." 
 
 " Some folk is like that," the painter admit- 
 ted. " But ye micht try a plaster on him. I'll 
 gi'e ye a sample of some I had for rheumatics." 
 
 " Thenk ye, thenk ye ! " Expressions of re- 
 lief and doubt were visible, in turn, on Mr. 
 Gorrie's face. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn ran into his house. 
 
 " Efter ye've applied it," he said on his re- 
 turn, "ye best gang oot for a walk. It's a 
 guid plaster, but it doesna improve the temper, 
 an' Bob Smilie, when he's roused, is an 
 orator ! "
 
 HIS NEIGHBOURS' KINDNESS ,141 
 
 " Thenk ye, thenk ye," Mr. Gorrie repeated, 
 not knowing what else to say regarding the 
 remedy, a thin roll of paper, in his hand. 
 " Aweel," he went on hastily, " I best see aboot 
 the kippers ; an' there's ither things I've to buy 
 for him. When ye're lyin' badly ye can dae wi' 
 a bit luxury, Ridhorn eh? espaycially when 
 it's no' costin' ye onything? Ha, ha! Eh, Rid- 
 horn? But I dinna grudge it, though I'm a 
 puir man." 
 
 " Jist that," said the painter equably. " As 
 I've already observed, ye've acted uncommon 
 weel ; but see an' no' ruin yersel' ! " 
 
 Gorrie walked off in the direction of the 
 shops. Within an hour Bob Smilie's indisposi- 
 tion was known to nearly every soul in Fair- 
 port. Unfortunately, the general feeling to- 
 wards " the good Samaritan," as a very small 
 minority designated Mr. Gorrie, was that of 
 bitter jealousy with a desperate desire to " cut 
 him out." 
 
 The minister had left the house of John Gor- 
 rie, not a little touched by that individual's 
 devotion to his lodger and patient. Knowing 
 well enough that in the past little love had been 
 lost between the two men, he had at first 
 doubted the host's sincerity, but after listening 
 to the querulousness of the guest for ten 
 minutes he had felt ashamed of his suspicions, 
 and almost resigned to her ladyship's scheme 
 for encouraging deeds of kindness. Nay, more,
 
 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 he had practically decided to recommend John 
 Gorrie for her ladyship's award. 
 
 " Man, John," said Mr. Smilie, who was now 
 sitting up in bed, supping raspberry jam from 
 a pot presented by a widow, and glancing over 
 a weekly journal which had been handed in, 
 with some ceremony, by Mr. Danks, the fish- 
 monger, " Man, John, I could endure this 
 agony for three month." 
 
 Mr. Gorrie grunted. He was engaged in try- 
 ing to make his bed on four chairs, none of 
 them being of similar height. The night was 
 yet young, but he was consumed with sleep. 
 
 " Is ma supper no' near ready ? " the invalid 
 inquired. 
 
 " Supper ! Ye'll get nae supper the nicht." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " I'm tellin' ye, ye'll get nae supper the nicht. 
 I'm ower wearit. I've had nae sleep for three 
 nichts." 
 
 "Ye wud sleep better if ye didna snore," 
 said Mr. Smilie cheerfully. " Hurry up wi' ma 
 supper. I believe I could shift a pair o* 
 poached eggs. Hurry up, John. Ye can ha'e 
 an egg yersel', seein' we're in the midst o' 
 plenty." 
 
 Plenty was precisely the word for it. For 
 two days Fairport had simply showered bene- 
 fits chiefly in the shape of bodily sustenance 
 on the invalid. Unlike most of his neighbours, 
 Mr. Smilie had made no attempt to discourage 
 deeds of kindness on his own behalf.
 
 HIS NEIGHBOURS' KINDNESS 143 
 
 " An' there's the cake that Mistress Donald 
 sent yesterday," he went on. " I'll ha'e to taste 
 it. Dinna let the fire get low. I micht as weel 
 use the coals that Peter Henderson sent. He's 
 a kind man, is Peter Henderson. If I was 
 spreadin' his kindness abroad, it micht spile 
 yer chance for the adult prize, John." 
 
 " See here ! " cried Mr. Gorrie, " I'll see 
 ye stiff afore I dae yer biddin' again, Bob 
 Smilie." 
 
 Mr. Smilie sniggered. " Afore ye mak' the 
 supper, ye can wash ma face. It's sticky wi' 
 this jam. Mind I prefer the water luke- 
 warm." 
 
 Mr. Gorrie was on the verge of an explosion, 
 when a knock fell on the door. Hastily pro- 
 curing some warm water in a basin, he placed 
 it, with a towel, on a chair by the bedside, flung 
 the almost empty jam-pot and the weekly 
 journal under the bed, and breathlessly cursed 
 the occupant thereof. He then opened the door. 
 
 " Come in, come in," he said softly, " but 
 dinna mak' a noise." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn came in. 
 
 The invalid emitted a moan. 
 
 " I was jist for washin' his face," explained 
 the host. " He feels it soothin'-like. An' then 
 I was for makin' him a bit supper. He's got to 
 keep up his strength." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn nodded. " I merely ca'ed to see 
 if the plaster had done ony guid." 
 
 "Oh," said the sufferer, with a fearful
 
 144 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 grimace, " it done me guid for the time bein', 
 but it was terrible severe." 
 
 " 'Deed, ay," added " the good Samaritan," 
 rolling his eyes, " it raised an awfu' blister. I 
 was sair vexed for him." 
 
 The painter looked from one to the other. 
 
 " That's vera interesting" he remarked at 
 last. " I never heard o' wall-paper at ninepence 
 the piece daein' that afore." 
 
 Thereupon he took his departure. 
 
 " Ye muckle eediot ! " said Mr. Gorrie. 
 
 " Ye dooble-dyed gowk ! " retorted Mr. Smilie. 
 " What wey did ye burn the thing wi'oot lukin* 
 at it?" 
 
 " What wey did ye tell me to stap it in the 
 fire?" 
 
 The conspirators glared angrily at each 
 other. 
 
 Then Mr. Gorrie, without a word, rushed 
 from the house. He overtook the painter at 
 the latter's door. 
 
 " See here, Ridhorn," he said reproachfully, 
 " it wasna fair to play a joke on a seeck man. 
 It's true that I I lost the plaster, or paper, or 
 whatever it was, afore I had examined it; but 
 Bob an' me didna want to hurt yer feelin's, so 
 we decidet to let on we had used it. D'ye see? " 
 
 " Weel, weel," said Mr. Redhorn, " I'll forgi'e 
 ye, for I perceive I'm no' blameless masel'. An' 
 the least I can dae is to gi'e ye a genuine 
 plaster for Smilie, wi'oot delay. Jist wait a 
 
 jiffy."
 
 HIS NEIGHBOURS' KINDNESS 145 
 
 A minute later Mr. Gorrie departed in pos- 
 session of the genuine plaster and sundry in- 
 structions for its application. 
 
 " If I've time, I'll luk in the morn's mornin', 
 an' see hoo he's gettin' on," Mr. Redhorn called 
 after him. 
 
 Mr. Smilie protested forcibly, yet could not 
 but submit himself to Mr. Redhorn's remedy. 
 Throughout the night he gave vent to dire 
 sounds. Mr. Gorrie, feigning slumber, quaked 
 with inward mirth until he rolled off his bed 
 of chairs, bruising himself rather severely. In 
 the morning both men were decidedly short- 
 tempered. 
 
 " Hurry up wi' ma breakfast," shouted the 
 invalid, a little after eight o'clock. 
 
 " I'm hurryin'," retorted " the good Samari- 
 tan," and let fall an egg on the hearth-stone. 
 
 "I'll thenk ye no' to waste ma property," 
 cried Smilie. 
 
 "What? Wha's property? The proveesions 
 is nae mair yours nor mines." 
 
 " I beg yer paurdon ! The deeds of kindness 
 was done to me. They're ma property." 
 
 " They're ma security till I get the prize 
 money." 
 
 Mr. Smilie sat up. " They're mines ! I'm 
 tellin' ye, the deeds o' kindness is mines; an' 
 if ye want an egg or onything else for yer 
 ain breakfast, ye've got to ask ma permeesion." 
 
 " Ask yer permeesion ! " A spasm of rage con- 
 torted Mr. Gorrie's face, and he lifted an egg
 
 146 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 in each hand. " Tak' that, an' that !" Mr. Gor- 
 rie fired the eggs in quick succession. They ex- 
 ploded against the wall, the target having 
 dodged beneath the bed-clothes. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn stood in the doorway, smiling 
 drily. 
 
 " I observe ye're gi'ein' him his breakfast," 
 he remarked. 
 
 Mr. Gorrie said nothing; Mr. Smilie re- 
 mained in concealment. 
 
 " But I didna come in to interrup' kind 
 deeds," Mr. Redhorn continued. " As a matter 
 o' fac', I'm assisting the meenister, this fine 
 mornin', to spread a certain piece of news. In 
 the first place, her leddyship, wha', as ye ken, 
 has been traivellin' in London, an' the Con- 
 tinent o' Europe, arrived hame, per spaycial 
 steamer, last nicht. An' afore she had even got 
 a dish o' tea she sent for the meenister. They 
 were closeted thegether, as the novelles say, for 
 upwards of hauf an 'oor. At nine o'clock the 
 meenister chappit at ma door. I was vexed 
 for him." Again Mr. Redhorn paused. " I 
 hope," he remarked, " Maister Smilie'll no' get 
 suffocatit wi' his modesty " 
 
 " See here ! " began Mr. Gorrie. 
 
 " I see ye're anxious to get the news. Weel, 
 it appears that her leddyship has had nae cor- 
 respondence wi' the meenister during the last 
 sax month. It appears likewise that the letter 
 the meenister got the day o' the concert was nae 
 mair nor a hoax a vile hoax, the meenister
 
 HIS NEIGHBOURS' KINDNESS 147 
 
 ca'ed it. The author is unknown, but I suspect 
 a certain vera jocular young gent that was 
 bidin' in Fairport in September. Hooever, the 
 p'int is that the Deeds o' Kindness Compitee- 
 tion is cancelled in ither words, up a gum 
 tree. Her leddyship was greatly annoyed an' 
 distressed that sic a hoax sud be played in her 
 name, and I've to inform ye that she has pro- 
 videt funds for to pey for a tea-meetin', cine- 
 matograph, and phonograph entertainment on 
 the third o' January, prox., to which a' Fair- 
 port is cordially invited. Afore leavin' ye to 
 recover frae yer gratefu' stupefaction, I wud 
 just like to encourage ye to conteenue in daein' 
 kind deeds. I observe a conseederable supply o' 
 proveesions an' ither articles in these premises 
 o' yours ; an' I happen to be aware that there's 
 a conseederable want o' the same in the 
 premises occupied by the weeda Morrison an' 
 her five sma' offsprings 
 
 " Get oot o' this ! " bawled Mr. Gorrie. 
 
 " I'm merely offerin' ye a suggestion," Mr. 
 Kedhorn went on placidly. " If ye accep' it 
 
 afore dinner-time, I'm dumb. Itherwise " 
 
 He turned and departed. 
 
 Mr. Smilie uncovered his face. 
 
 " I'm thinkin', John, ye wud prefer me to be 
 dumb likewise," he said brightly; adding: 
 "Hurry up wi' ma breakfast, an' then I'll see 
 if I can rise."
 
 XI 
 HIS DISTRESS 
 
 MB. REDHORN was in high spirits. The 
 New Year had begun well so well 
 that he had been compelled to engage 
 the assistance of a journeyman painter from 
 Glasgow to enable him to cope with the work 
 he had undertaken. He had actually felt justi- 
 fied in offering the Glasgow man a six weeks' 
 engagement, at the very least. 
 
 " There's naething like tred when it's guid," 
 he remarked gaily to Willie in the shop, one 
 February morning. " It's a lang while since I 
 had to get a man frae Glesca. It'll be near 
 seeven year. . . . But he wasna a great suc- 
 cess," he added thoughtfully. 
 
 "What was wrang wi' him?" inquired 
 Willie, who was industriously stirring some- 
 thing in a large pot. 
 
 " Aw he was ower sentimental, Wullie." 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 " Weel, he was a young man, ye see, an' he 
 hadna been here a roon' o' the clock afore he 
 had a lass. I forget wha she was but she was 
 a rale nice lass an' I had nae fau't to fin' wi' 
 the man's ch'ice. He was in earnest, tae ; for a 
 
 148
 
 HIS DISTRESS 149 
 
 year efter he left Fairport he cam' back an' 
 mairrit her. I was invitet to the waddin', but 
 at that time I had to avoid social joys, bein' a 
 martyr o' dyspepsia. But that's no' the p'int. 
 The p'int is that he let his amorous feelin's get 
 the better o' his professional yins. Love's 
 young dream is a' vera fine, but a man canna 
 mak' a dacent job o' a winda-shutter when he's 
 aye keekin' oot the winda to see if his lass is 
 comin' alang the road. Ye canna dae twa 
 things at the same time, Wullie. Mind that! 
 If Providence had intendit a man to dae twa 
 things at yinst, Providence wud ha'e pit yin o' 
 his e'en at the back o' his heid." 
 
 " Then every man wud need to be bald-heidit 
 at the back," remarked Willie, with a snigger. 
 
 " Pey attention to yer wark, laddie," said 
 Mr. Redhorn a little shortly. 
 
 " But what else did the young man dae for- 
 bye sp'ilin' the shutter?" 
 
 " Aw, I canna mind a' he did, Wullie," said 
 Mr. Redhorn, recovering his good humour. 
 " The shutter was merely a feegure o' speech. 
 I mind he papered a bedroom wi' the paper up- 
 side doon; but it was a paper o' a vera con- 
 fused design, an' I decidet to say naething 
 aboot it unless the leddy that owned the hoose 
 mentioned it. I felt kin' o' dishonest for twa- 
 three year efter, but the leddy never said ony- 
 thing, an' at last a pipe burst an' floodit the 
 room, so I had the pleesure o' hingin' a new 
 paper. It's a true sayin' that silence is golden,
 
 150 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 Wullie, though I canna say I look back wi' 
 pride to that parteeclar example. But I hadna 
 the hert to expose the young man, an' I admit 
 I wasna sorry to save aboot thirty shillin's." 
 
 " Ye didna let me aff sae easy," said Willie 
 in an aggrieved tone of voice, " when I pit the 
 wrang pent on thon meat-safe." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn smiled. " Weel, weel," he said 
 mildly, " I'll maybe be mair lenient wi' ye, 
 Wullie, when ye get a lass when ye're in the 
 throes o' Love's young dream." 
 
 " I wudna be sae daft ! " the boy muttered 
 scornfully, reddening. " Did ye gi'e the silly 
 chap the kick efter he hung the paper upside 
 doon ? " he hastened to inquire. 
 
 " Na ; I kep' him till his month was up. But 
 I pit him on to white-washin' an' ither rough 
 wark, whaur he couldna mak' ony vera serious 
 blunders." 
 
 " White-washin' mak's me seeck," said 
 W'illie. 
 
 " Weel, ye'll jist ha'e to acquire a taste for it, 
 ma laddie. It's pairt o' yer tred. A time'll 
 come when ye'll be gled to get a white-washin' 
 job. Ye needna expec' to be aye employed on 
 fine wark. When ye're a wean, ye think ye'll 
 no' need to eat yer crusts when ye grow up; 
 but when ye're an auld man, ye soak them in 
 yer tea afore ye'll waste them. Na, na! It's 
 no' a' ivory enamel an' gold leaf in the pentin' 
 tred." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn might have risen to higher
 
 HIS DISTRESS 151 
 
 flights, but Willie interrupted him with the 
 question 
 
 " Did the chap ye was speakin' aboot like 
 white-washin' ? " 
 
 " Och, he liket everything at that time. It 
 made nae odds to him what his job was. I 
 daursay he wud ha'e been jist as pleased 
 if he had been a sclater soopin' a vent, 
 or a plumber inside a drain-pipe. He sang like 
 a lintie frae mornin' till nicht aboot a lass o' 
 the name o' Annie Rooney that wasna the 
 richt name, of course. An' he had a smile for 
 everybody even for Mistress M'Innes, when he 
 pit his brush through her winda. Some folks 
 said they were fair seeck o' his sang aboot Miss 
 Rooney, but he never heedit them. It didna 
 affec' me yin wey or anither, for I'm nae 
 songster ; but I wud f aur rather see a lad cheery 
 nor glum, so I didna discourage him. 'Deed, he 
 was the cheeriest penter I ever seen an' the 
 warst. But, of course, he wasna responsible 
 for his actions, as they say at the wife-beatin' 
 trials." 
 
 The painter looked at his watch. 
 
 " Awa' oot an' see if the boat's comin', 
 Wullie," he said briskly. 
 
 The boy obeyed, and returned within two 
 minutes. 
 
 " It's no comin' yet, Maister Ridhorn. A 
 is the penter that's comin' wi' the boat a young 
 chap?" he inquired. 
 
 " Na, na. I doot he'll be a disapp'intment to
 
 the junior female population o' Fairport, but 
 I wasna inclined to risk anither sentimental 
 yin. I daursay John Kelly that's his name 
 wud be surprised at the questions in ma letter ; 
 but his answer said that he was forty-five, mair- 
 rit, fower children, teetotal, an' nae songster; 
 an' it said, forbye, that he was takin' the job 
 for his health's sake. So I think he'll be safe 
 enough." 
 
 " Could we no' ha'e managed wi'oot a man? " 
 asked Willie, who secretly resented the coming 
 of the stranger. 
 
 His master shook his head. " I've promised 
 to ha'e certain jobs feenished at certain times, 
 an' I couldna keep ma promises wi'oot assist- 
 ance. I'm no' wantin' ma customers to be 
 turnin' on me an' sayin' ' It's easier gettin' ye 
 into the hoose nor oot ! ' I want to keep to 
 ma bargain or as near it as possible. The 
 public's aye complainin' aboot tredsmen never 
 feenishin' jobs accordin' to arrangement, an' 
 I'm boun' to admit the public ha'e whiles reason 
 for complainin'. But I defy onybody to prove 
 that penters are the warst offenders. In ma 
 unbased opeenion [Mr. Redhorn probably 
 meant to say ' unbiassed '], a penter's naething 
 to complain aboot compared wi' a jiner. 
 Criftens! the mere sicht o' a jiner gars me 
 wonder hoo Noah managed to get the Ark 
 feenished in time. An' a plumber's nae better ; 
 only ye never ken exac'ly what a plumber's 
 daein' wi' yer pipe, an' ye daurna say a word
 
 HIS DISTRESS 153 
 
 in case he walks aff in the huff an' leaves the 
 water scootin' at ye." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn paused a moment, and con- 
 tinued 
 
 " At the same time, the penter is faur frae 
 being perfec'. He's by nae means free frae the 
 vice o' procrastinism. When ye're a journey- 
 man,, Wullie, try to keep yer promises. If ye 
 succeed, ye'll maybe dee famous an' get a monu- 
 ment to yer memory frae a gratefu' an' as- 
 toundit public. I've aye made the error of 
 promisin' ower muckle. Tak' advantage, lad- 
 die, o' ma experience. If ye're offered a job 
 that ye think micht be feenished in a week, look 
 as sad as ye can, an' say ye'll dae yer best to 
 complete the wark in a fortnicht, though the 
 effort sud ruin yer constitution. Dinna smile 
 shuperior-like an' tell yer customer ye'll ha'e 
 the 'hale show feenished easy in three days, 
 wi'oot fail. In ma young days I kent a man 
 that was nicknamed l Wi'oot Fail,' because he 
 aye said the words to his customers. He was a 
 grocer, a dacent man, an' I hope he's still got 
 the breath to say the words wi', though I never 
 heard tell o' him livin' up to them. But that's 
 ma advice to you, Wullie. Ca' canny wi' yer 
 promises, an' ye'll maybe live to stagger hu- 
 manity by feenishin' a job afore ye said ye wud. 
 . . . Rin oot an' see if ye can spy the boat." 
 
 This time Willie returned with the informa- 
 tion that the steamer was rounding the point 
 on the other side of the loch.
 
 154 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 " Ye better gang roon' to Mistress Dobie, an' 
 tell her to get her new ludger's breakfast 
 ready," said the painter. " The man'll be cauld 
 an' hungry efter his journey, an' forbye that, 
 he's comin' to Fairport for his health." 
 
 When Willie came back from delivering the 
 message, he put a question which had been ex- 
 ercising him for some days ever since he had 
 heard that the man was coming. 
 
 " Maister Ridhorn, wull I need to dae what 
 he tells me to dae, jist the same as if he was 
 you?" 
 
 " Certainly, Wullie," Mr. Redhorn replied 
 promptly. " He'll be yer maister when I'm no' 
 there. Ye'll let him see what a smairt lad ye 
 are, an' show him onything he canna fin' oot 
 for hissel'." 
 
 The boy did not look too pleased. 
 
 " Hoo lang is he to be wi' us? " he asked. 
 
 " I canna say for certain," returned the 
 painter, who was busy selecting some brushes 
 from a pot of water. " Sax weeks onyway, 
 Wullie. He'll bide langer, maybe, if there's 
 plenty for him to dae." 
 
 There was a short silence broken by Willie, 
 who said in a low voice 
 
 " Sax weeks ! Maybe I'll no' be here in sax 
 weeks. 
 
 "What did ye say, laddie?" inquired Mr. 
 Redhorn, without looking up. 
 
 Willie hesitated. His mother had told him 
 not to mention to anyone in the village the pos-
 
 HIS DISTRESS 165 
 
 sibility of their removal from Fairport. But 
 he had forgotten. Now he remembered, yet 
 disobeyed her request. 
 
 " I said I wud maybe no' be here in sax 
 weeks." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn stared at him. "No' here in 
 sax weeks ? Hoo that ? " he demanded. 
 
 The boy grinned somewhat foolishly. " It's 
 a secret I wasna to tell onybody but we're 
 maybe gaun awa' to Canada." 
 
 " To Canada ! " gasped the painter. " Wha's 
 gaun to Canada?" 
 
 " Ma Uncle Robert sent a letter to ma mither, 
 an' he wants her to gang to Canada an' keep 
 his hoose for him. An' I'm to gang tae! It'll 
 be fine! Uncle Robert's been makin' a heap 
 o' money for a while back. . . . But I wasna 
 to tell." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn was silent. 
 
 " Ye'll no' let on I tell't ye? " pleaded Willie. 
 
 " Na, na," his master briefly replied. " See 
 if the boat's near the pier yet," he added a 
 moment later. 
 
 Left to himself, the painter put his hand to 
 his brow and sighed heavily. Willie's in- 
 formation was a severe blow. To think of the 
 boy leaving Fairport was sorrow indeed. The 
 good trade was nothing to him now, unless a 
 mockery. 
 
 " But it's no' fixed yet," he said to himself, 
 endeavouring to ease the burden of doubt and 
 despair that had come upon him.
 
 Willie reappeared. " The boat'll be at the 
 pier in five meenutes." 
 
 " Aweel, I best gang doon an' meet John 
 Kelly." Mr. Redhorn did not look at his ap- 
 prentice. " Ye micht clean thur brushes till I 
 come back." 
 
 He stepped to the door. 
 
 " Wait a bit, Maister Ridhorn ! " called Wil- 
 lie after him in a laughing voice. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn halted and turned eagerly. Per- 
 haps, after all, Willie had only been joking 
 about Canada. 
 
 " There some yella pent on yer broo," said 
 Willie. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn fled.
 
 XII 
 HIS REWARD 
 
 THE painter tapped gently on the cottage 
 door so gently, indeed, that his 
 knuckles on the wood made scarce a 
 sound. He waited several minutes, then 
 tapped again, a trifle less gently. An ordinary 
 human ear might just have detected the tapping 
 which to Mr. Redhorn seemed like thunder. 
 Once more he tapped, and stood listening. 
 
 Presently he heard the sound of footsteps 
 within, and he drew a little way back from 
 the door, his countenance ruddy. 
 
 But the footsteps halted abruptly ; there was 
 a loud clank followed by a soft thud. A 
 moment later the sound of a slight splash 
 reached his ears. Then came a thump; and 
 immediately after the thump began a noise 
 which Mr. Redhorn understood. 
 
 " She's scrubbin' her kitchen," he told him- 
 self. " I doot I've come at an unseasonable 
 time." 
 
 He turned round, stroking his nose in a 
 foolish, undecided fashion and blinking through 
 his spectacles in the forenoon sunshine. " Oh, 
 criftens!" he sighed, ''what am I to dae?" 
 
 157
 
 158 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 As if for inspiration he gazed down the blue 
 firth. A big steamer with a red funnel was 
 bellowing a farewell to her tender that piped 
 a mournful reply. 
 
 " Allan liner ! " muttered Mr. Redhorn. He 
 started violently. His ruddy colour faded. 
 "Allan liner boun' for Canada Canada" He 
 faced the door and again knocked more loudly 
 than he intended. The sound of scrubbing 
 ceased. He clenched his hands. 
 
 The door was opened. Mrs. McWattie stood 
 before him, her print sleeves rolled above her 
 elbows, a sackcloth apron tied round her waist. 
 Her comely, fresh-coloured face wore an ex- 
 pression of surprise. Then she smiled. 
 
 " Oh, Maister Ridhorn, it's you ! " she ex- 
 claimed. " This is a fine mornin'." 
 
 " Ay, it's a a fine mornin', Mrs. McWattie. 
 It's a fine mornin'. I doot we'll get rain afore 
 lang, but it's a fine mornin', as ye say. Oh, ay, 
 it's a rale fine mornin'. Ay ! " Here he found 
 himself unable to proceed. Beads appeared on 
 his brow; his countenance suggested intense 
 mental anguish. 
 
 The smile faded from the widow's face. 
 
 " Come ben, Maister Ridhorn," she said 
 gravely, and led the way to the kitchen. " Mind 
 yer feet, if ye please." 
 
 The warning was necessary, for the painter 
 was about to put his left foot in a flat tin con- 
 taining soft soap. With his right he sent the 
 scrubbing brush halfway across the floor.
 
 HIS REWARD 159 
 
 " Never heed it," said Mrs. McWattie. " Tak' 
 a sate. Excuse the mess." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn subsided into the armchair, 
 looking dazed. Mrs. McWattie stood, leaning 
 against the dresser. The silence grew heavy. 
 The widow broke it at last. 
 
 " Weel, Maister Ridhorn," she said very 
 sadly, " I suppose it's aboot Wullie." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn cleared his throat. " Wullie," 
 he began, and stuck. 
 
 " Oh, ye dinna need to tell me," she said. " I 
 ken ye dinna want to hurt ma feelin's. Mony's 
 the time I've tell't Wullie he wud try yer 
 patience ower faur wi' his carelessness an' his 
 pranks. An' he's done it noo." 
 
 But " 
 
 "Na, na. Dinna tell me. I ken fine hoo 
 mony chances ye've gi'ed him, Maister Rid- 
 horn; an' if he's no gratefu' to ye, his mither 
 is. I'm rale vexed he's turned oot a disapp'int- 
 ment to ye. He's no' a bad laddie, but he's 
 careless an' fu' o' mischief, an' maybe he 
 needs a stricter maister nor yersel'. But, oh! 
 I wish he " 
 
 Mr. Redhorn found speech at last. 
 
 " Stop, stop, Mistress McWattie ! " he cried. 
 "Ye're deludin' yersel'! I've nae complaints 
 agin Wullie. He hasna played a prank o' ony 
 description for for near a week! An' he 
 hasna made a blunder since since I dinna ken 
 when. Wullie's gettin' on fine, an' I'm rale 
 pleased wi' him. I assure ye I am. I wudna
 
 160 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 deceive ye." The painter stopped like a clock 
 run down. 
 
 Mrs. McWattie's face expressed her relief, 
 but she was still puzzled. She left the dresser 
 and came over to the fire. 
 
 " I'm gled, gled to hear ye say that," she 
 said, not quite steadily. " When I think o' a' 
 yer kindness to ma laddie, I I " 
 
 "Whisht, whisht, Mistress!" muttered 
 Joseph, exquisitely uncomfortable. 
 
 " There's naebody wud ha'e treatit Wullie 
 like what you've done," she went on. " I'm no' 
 speakin' aboot his wages, which was faur bigger 
 nor his wark was worth but ye've been guid 
 to Wullie every wey, an' an' Wullie's a' I've 
 got" 
 
 "An' he's a' -Tve got," blurted out the 
 painter, and grew red with confusion. " I'm 
 sure I dinna ken what I wud dae wantin' 
 Wullie," he stammered. " That that's what 
 I cam' to see ye aboot the day, Mistress. I 
 I dinna want to loss Wullie." 
 
 Mrs. McWattie eyed the pail of still steaming 
 water and said soberly 
 
 " I suppose Wullie's been tellin' ye aboot his 
 uncle, Maister Ridhorn." 
 
 " Ay. But I wasna to tell. I never thocht 
 ye wud guess. Ye'll no' be angry at him. The 
 laddie let it oot unintentional-like." 
 
 " I didna want him to tell onybody till I had 
 decidet," she returned slowly. " But I suppose 
 he couldna keep it frae you," she added, smiling
 
 HIS REWARD 161 
 
 faintly. "Wud ye no' be better wi' anither 
 apprentice? " she asked suddenly. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn gasped. " Ha'e ye decidet to 
 to gang to Canada? Aw, Mistress McWattie! " 
 
 " No' jist decidet. But I'm thinkin' it's ma 
 duty to gang for Wullie's sake, let alane for 
 my ain sake. Ye see, Maister Ridhorn, Wullie 
 wud be a heap the better o' ha'ein' his uncle to 
 luk efter him, an' " 
 
 " An' what aboot yerseF ? " asked the painter, 
 in a husky whisper. 
 
 "Me? Oh, weel, I suppose I'm as fond o' 
 comfort an' guid things as maist weemen. An' 
 ma brithers unco weel aff nooadays. It's no' 
 his fau't he didna offer to help me afore. But 
 he's rale willin' noo, an' so I'm thinkin' serious 
 o' Canada, though it's a lang road there. But 
 I'll see that Wullie gi'es ye a fortnicht notice 
 onywey. An' I'll I'll never forget what ye've 
 done for him." 
 
 Mr. Redhorn did not at once reply. He sat 
 in a crouching attitude, his interlocked fingers 
 working nervously between his knees. When 
 he spoke, his voice was quite unfamiliar to the 
 widow. 
 
 " I dinna want to loss Wullie," he said, the 
 words coming spasmodically. " I've nae doot 
 he wud dae weel in Canada. I'm no' sayin' ony- 
 thing agin the place. But I'm thinkin' o' 
 masel'. I dinna want to loss him. D'ye see, 
 Mistress? ... I dinna want to loss him. 
 I'm maybe no' as weel aff as his respectit uncle,
 
 162 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 but there's naebody keener for Wullie to dae 
 weel an' get on nor Joseph Ridhorn. That's 
 genuine ! ... Ye was sayin' ye thocht Wullie 
 wud be the better o' bein' lukit efter, an' I'm 
 no' denyin' his respectit uncle could dae that. 
 But so could Joseph Ridhorn, if he got the 
 chance. . . . Mistress McWattie ! " he ex- 
 claimed appealingly, " d'ye no' think Wullie 
 wud be as weel wi' a fayther-in-law as an 
 uncle?" 
 
 "A what?" 
 
 " I meant for to say a stepfayther," 
 said Mr. Redhorn, collapsing after his great 
 effort. 
 
 The widow crossed the floor to the window. 
 She was half laughing, half crying. 
 
 The painter rose, and, clutching the back 
 of his chair, hoarsely whispered 
 
 " Mistress McWattie, if ye gang to Canada, 
 Joseph Ridhorn's a done man ! " 
 
 It was near the dinner hour when he left the 
 cottage. The very sun seemed to be shining, 
 the very sea sparkling, for joy in his joy. 
 
 He turned to wave his hand to the woman 
 who stood in the cottage doorway, and 
 stumbled over a loose stone, so that his cap 
 fell off. Playfully he kicked it five yards in 
 front of him, and when he had picked it up, 
 set it on his head at an angle of jauntiness 
 which caused several neighbours to look at him 
 twice. As he neared the village he saw ap-
 
 HIS REWARD 163 
 
 preaching his old enemy, Mr. Danks, the fish- 
 merchant. 
 
 Joseph held his head a little higher, but 
 smiled in spite of himself. At one time he 
 had feared Mr. Danks as a rival. 
 
 Mr. Danks stopped. 
 
 " Ye're lukin' unco joco' the day, Professor 
 Ridhorn," he said, with a sour grin. 
 
 "Am I?" 
 
 " Ye've maybe no' heard the news aboot Mis- 
 tress McWattie. She's for Canada ! " 
 
 " Is she? " With a loud laugh Mr. Redhorn 
 walked on, leaving the fishmonger gaping after 
 him. 
 
 " Fine day, Joseph," remarked an old woman. 
 
 " Finest I ever seen," returned the painter. 
 
 But at the sight of his abode his excitement 
 abated and gave place to misgivings. Willie 
 would be awaiting his arrival, as arranged, and 
 Mr. Redhorn had undertaken to break the news 
 to the boy. Ten minutes ago it had seemed 
 a simple task; now it seemed most delicate 
 and difficult. 
 
 Joseph stepped into Mrs. Fergus's small shop 
 and purchased a bottle of lemonade. 
 
 "This is a gran' day," said the little 
 woman. 
 
 " Ay," returned Joseph slowly, " it's been a 
 fine day up till the noo." 
 
 At the door of his home he found Willie. 
 
 " Gang ben, laddie," he said, opening the 
 door. " Here a bottle of leemonade for ye to
 
 164 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 tak' afore ye rin hame. Sit doon, sit doon. 
 Is Kelly awa' to his dinner?" 
 
 " Uh-ha. Am I to drink it oot the bottle, 
 Maister Ridhorn ? " 
 
 " Tits ! " The painter got a tumbler from 
 the cupboard. " There ye are." 
 
 " Thenk ye. Mistress Young was here a 
 while back speirin' what wey ye hadna been 
 at her paurlour this mornin'. Whar was ye? " 
 
 " Whaur was I ? " Mr. Redhorn dropped 
 
 into his easy-chair. " Aw, I was alang at " 
 
 He stopped short. Then : " Wullie, was ye 
 speakin' to onybody aboot Canada?" 
 
 Willie moved uneasily on his chair. " I 
 forgot. I didna mean to tell onybody but 
 you." 
 
 " Aweel, it canna be helpit. Tell me, is is 
 yer hert set on gaun to Canada? " 
 
 " I wud like fine to gang," said Willie, and 
 took a pull at his lemonade. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn sighed. " But no' wi'oot yer 
 mither?" 
 
 " Aw, no' wi'oot her. ... I wudna get 
 gaun ma lane." 
 
 " Ye inicht get gaun yer lane, if ye was 
 aulder, an' if ye was a journeyman, an' if the 
 chances was better there nor here. I wudna 
 staun' in yer road, laddie, I wudna I mean 
 to say, yer mither wudna staun' in yer road, 
 though she wud miss ye sair. But i' the mean- 
 time, Wullie, i' the meantime " Mr. Red- 
 horn could get no further just then.
 
 HIS REWARD 165 
 
 " This leemonade's awfu' guid," remarked 
 the apprentice. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn placed his hand on his brow, 
 shading his eyes. After an interval of silence 
 he spoke in the voice that had been unfamiliar 
 to the boy's mother. 
 
 " Wullie, ye've got an esteemed uncle in 
 Canada, an' I daursay he could dae a heap for 
 ye. But he couldna be mair anxious for yer 
 prosperity nor nor the man that's speakin' to 
 ye the noo. ... I dinna want to loss ye, 
 Wullie. I dinna want to loss ye. What I 
 mean to say is that Fairport's maybe no' as 
 big as Canada, but there'll aye be room for 
 yersel' as a penter in the former. D'ye see 
 what I mean? . . . Weel, noo, Wullie, did 
 ye ever think hoo ye wud like to ha'e a a 
 stepfayther? " 
 
 There was a dead silence in the room. Mr. 
 Redhorn tried to face his apprentice, but he 
 could not manage it. 
 
 " Wullie ! " he said. " Supposin' " 
 
 " D'ye mean yersel' ? " the boy suddenly in- 
 quired. 
 
 " Jist that," said his master. " I seen yer 
 mither this mornin'. She she was willin'." 
 
 Something manly came into the boy's face. 
 He laid the half-emptied tumbler on the table, 
 and rose from his seat. He took a step towards 
 Mr. Redhorn. 
 
 " I'm gled it's you," he said gravely. 
 
 Mr. Redhorn leapt up, his face beaming.
 
 166 WULLIE McWATTIE'S MASTER 
 
 " Here's ma haun', Wullie ! " he cried, " an' 
 may the Lord help me to deal justly wi' you 
 an' yer mither." 
 
 They shook hands. 
 
 " I'm awfu' gled ! " said Willie warmly, and 
 the next instant became painfuly embarrassed. 
 
 But ere long he recovered, as did his prospec- 
 tive stepfather. 
 
 " I suppose," said Mr. Eedhorn thoughtfully, 
 when the boy was about to go to his home, " I 
 suppose this has been a maist stupendous sur- 
 prise to ye, Wullie." 
 
 " Aw, weel," returned Willie quietly, " it 
 wasna exac'ly a surprise." 
 
 Then he laughed, and so did Mr. Bedhorn, 
 though he couldn't have explained why he 
 did so. 
 
 Joseph Redhorn paced the room that had 
 been his solitary home for so long. He had 
 already decided on a new home a cottage with 
 three rooms and kitchen, and a bit of garden. 
 
 " It'll be the brawest cottage in Fairport, 
 frae a penter's p'int o' view," he told himself. 
 " For yin thing, I'll dae the lobby dado wi' 
 conventional comets! By Jupiter, an' so I 
 will ! " 
 
 In an ecstasy of satisfaction with everything 
 in creation, he smote his chest. 
 
 " Crif tens ! I'm that happy, I wish I was 
 a songster!"
 
 What the Press Says of 
 
 OH! CHRISTINA! 
 
 By J. J. BELL 
 
 Illustrated, Cloth, net 60 cts. 
 
 Newark Call 
 
 "One lays down the book with a sigh of pleasure 
 and a wish that it were longer much longer 
 and that some day Mr. Bell will let us know what 
 really becomes of Christina and if she ever grows 
 up out of her altogether delightful childhood." 
 
 Denver Republican 
 
 "The cleverness of the little rough diamond, the 
 goodness of her heart in spite of her manners, 
 which shock the prim old maiden aunt, the ef- 
 forts of Christina to protect the interests of that 
 aunt and, over all, to entangle her in a real ro- 
 mance, make a cheering bit of reading through 
 the all too few pages of the book. The charac- 
 ters in the story stand out like human beings 
 and one has the feeling of having made some 
 new acquaintances when the end of the account- 
 ing of their doings is reached." 
 
 Boston Transcript 
 
 '"Oh! Christina!' is a 'Wee Macgreegor' in 
 petticoats. There is in it more than transitory 
 fun. It is full of human nature as it exists not 
 merely in Scotland, but everywhere. " 
 
 Denver Post 
 
 "Wee MacGreegor's Cousin comes and the life 
 tdat little Scotch lassie leads her prim maiden 
 auntie is enough to keep one laughing from 
 start to finish, and you scarcely know which of 
 the two you like the better." 
 
 Rochester Post Express 
 
 "The naturalness, naivete, and inimitable hu- 
 mor of the narrative will win for it a wide 
 popularity. "
 
 "A modern up-to-date bit of fiction." Book News 
 THIRD EDITION READY 
 
 Whither Thou Goest 
 
 By J. J. BELL 
 12mo, Cloth, net $1.20 
 
 The OutlooJc 
 
 "In 'Whither Thou Goest,' Mr. Bell is more 
 ambitious than in 'Wee Macgreegor,' and in 
 many ways shows a deeper knowledge of life 
 and its intricacies. The story is not on ordi- 
 nary lines ; it is most skillfully constructed and 
 includes a variety of characters which make it 
 bright and unfailingly entertaining. " 
 
 Boston Times 
 
 "We all remember Mr. Bell as the author of 
 'Wee Macgreegor,' but, good as it is, this new 
 story is his best work thus far. In it he strikes 
 a new vein, perfectly irresistible to any one who 
 loves a straightforward, honest tale, full of liv- 
 ing, breathing characters whom one seems to 
 have met and known." 
 
 Rochester Advertiser 
 
 "Mr. Bell's latest more than realizes all expecta- 
 tions. As a bit of writing, it is exceptionally 
 well-done; as a story, it occupies a unique place. 
 The story is well told, the action is rapid and 
 leads to a natural climax. Mr. Bell has a finely 
 developed sense of humor, a healthy outlook on 
 
 Minneapolis Tribune 
 
 "Mr. Bell is a novelist of the Dickensian type, 
 and in this new story he makes use of his rare 
 gifts of sincerity and simplicity. He sees below 
 the surface of things and treats with genial hu- 
 mor and kindly philosophy the affairs of every- 
 day life. Mr. Bell's new book will not fail to 
 add to his reputation for the crisp dialogue and 
 the quaint touch of Scotch character and humor 
 which make his other works so popular. "
 
 PR 
 
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 lie's master 
 
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 Mistress McWattie, if ye gang to Canada, Jose.p. 
 Ridhorn's a done man! " (Page