Men with clear heads and big
hearts, and built after Sandy M'Naughton's model. It does seem a sinful
waste of God's good human stuff to see these fellows potter away their
lives among theories living and dead, and end up by producing a book!
They are all either making or going to make a book. A good thing we
haven't to read them. But here and there among them is some quiet chap
who will make a book that men will tumble over each other to read.'

Then we paused and looked at each other.

'Well?' I said. He understood me.

'Yes!' he answered slowly, 'doing great work. Every one worships her
just as we do, and she is making them all do something worth while, as
she used to make us.'

He spoke cheerfully and readily as if he were repeating a lesson
well learned, but he could not humbug me. I felt the heartache in the
cheerful tone.

'Tell me about her,' I said, for I knew that if he would talk it would
do him good. And talk he did, often forgetting me, till, as I listened,
I found myself looking again into the fathomless eyes, and hearing
again the heart-searching voice. I saw her go in and out of the little
red-tiled cottages and down the narrow back lanes of the village; I
heard her voice in a sweet, low song by the bed of a dying child, or
pouring forth floods of music in the great new hall of the factory town
near by. But I could not see, though he tried to show me, the stately
gracious lady receiving the country folk in her home. He did not linger
over that scene, but went back again to the gate-cottage where she had
taken him one day to see Billy Breen's mother.

'I found the old woman knew all about me,' he said, simply enough; 'but
there were many things about Billy she had never heard, and I was glad
to put her right on some points, though Mrs. Mavor would not hear it.'

He sat silent for a little, looking into the coals; then went on in a
soft, quiet voice--

'It brought back the mountains and the old days to hear again Billy's
tones in his mother's voice, and to see her sitting there in the very
dress she wore the night of the League, you remember--some soft stuff
with black lace about it--and to hear her sing as she did for Billy--ah!
ah!' His voice unexpectedly broke, but in a moment he was master of
himself and begged me to forgive his weakness. I am afraid I said words
that should not be said--a thing I never do, except when suddenly and
utterly upset.

'I am getting selfish and weak,' he said; 'I