y St. John was thoroughly interested in the strange boy
whose growing musical pinions were ever being clipped by the shears of
unsympathetic age and crabbed religion, and the idea of doing something
for him to make up for the injustice of his grandmother awoke in her
a slight glow of that interest in life which she sought only in doing
good. But although ere long she came to love the boy very truly, and
although Shargar's life was bound up in the favour of Robert, yet
neither stooping angel nor foot-following dog ever loved the lad with
the love of that old grandmother, who would for him have given herself
to the fire to which she had doomed his greatest delight.

For some days Robert worked hard at his lessons, for he had nothing else
to do. Life was very gloomy now. If he could only go to sea, or away to
keep sheep on the stormy mountains! If there were only some war going
on, that he might list! Any fighting with the elements, or with the
oppressors of the nations, would make life worth having, a man worth
being. But God did not heed. He leaned over the world, a dark care,
an immovable fate, bearing down with the weight of his presence all
aspiration, all budding delights of children and young persons: all must
crouch before him, and uphold his glory with the sacrificial death of
every impulse, every admiration, every lightness of heart, every bubble
of laughter. Or--which to a mind like Robert's was as bad--if he did not
punish for these things, it was because they came not within the sphere
of his condescension, were not worth his notice: of sympathy could be no
question.

But this gloom did not last long. When souls like Robert's have been
ill-taught about God, the true God will not let them gaze too long upon
the Moloch which men have set up to represent him. He will turn away
their minds from that which men call him, and fill them with some of his
own lovely thoughts or works, such as may by degrees prepare the way for
a vision of the Father.

One afternoon Robert was passing the soutar's shop. He had never gone
near him since his return. But now, almost mechanically, he went in at
the open door.

'Weel, Robert, ye are a stranger. But what's the maitter wi' ye? Faith!
yon was an ill plisky ye played me to brak into my chop an' steal the
bonnie leddy.'

'Sandy,' said Robert, solemnly, 'ye dinna ken what ye hae dune by that
trick ye played me. Dinna ever mention her again i' my hearin'.'

'The auld witch ha