a man who
dies for the truth, dies to himself and to all that is not true.

"What a beautiful story!" cried Davie when it ceased. "Where did you
get it, Mr. Grant?"

"Where all stories come from."

"Where is that?"

"The Think-book."

"What a funny name! I never heard it! Will it be in the library?"

"No; it is in no library. It is the book God is always writing at one
end, and blotting out at the other. It is made of thoughts, not words.
It is the Think-book."

"Now I understand! You got the story out of your own head!"

"Yes, perhaps. But how did it get in to my head?"

"I can't tell that. Nobody can tell that!"

"Nobody can that never goes up above his own head--that never shuts the
Think-book, and stands upon it. When one does, then the Think-book
swells to a great mountain and lifts him up above all the world: then
he sees where the stories come from, and how they get into his
head.--Are you to have a ride to-day?"

"I ride or not just as I like."

"Well, we will now do just as we both like, I hope, and it will be two
likes instead of one--that is, if we are true friends."

"We shall be true friends--that we shall!"

"How can that be--between a little boy like you, and a grown man like
me?"

"By me being good."

"By both of us being good--no other way. If one of us only was good,
we could never be true friends. I must be good as well as you, else we
shall never understand each other!"

"How kind you are, Mr. Grant! You treat me just like another one!"
said Davie.

"But we must not forget that I am the big one and you the little one,
and that we can't be the other one to each other except the little one
does what the big one tells him! That's the way to fit into each
other."

"Oh, of course!" answered Davie, as if there could not be two minds
about that.

CHAPTER XV.

HORSE AND MAN.

During the first day and the next, Donal did not even come in sight of
any other of the family; but on the third day, after their short early
school--for he seldom let Davie work till he was tired, and never
after--going with him through the stable-yard, they came upon lord
Forgue as he mounted his horse--a nervous, fiery, thin-skinned
thoroughbred. The moment his master was on him, he began to back and
rear. Forgue gave him a cut with his whip. He went wild, plunging and
dancing and kicking. The young lord was a horseman in the sense of
having a good seat; but he knew little about h