e incapable of putting them
off--without being rude. It was disappointing to Mrs. Sclater, but
Gibbie was just as content to appear what he was, as he was
unwilling to remain what he was. Being dumb, she would say to
herself he would pass in any society; but if he had had his speech,
she never could have succeeded in making him a thorough gentleman:
he would have always been saying the right thing in the wrong place.
By the wrong place she meant the place where alone the thing could
have any pertinence. In after years, however, Gibbie's manners
were, whether pronounced such or not, almost universally felt to be
charming. But Gibbie knew nothing of his manners any more than of
the style in which he wrote.

One night on their way home from an evening party, the minister and
his wife had a small difference, probably about something of as
little real consequence to them as the knowledge of it is to us, but
by the time they reached home, they had got to the very summit of
politeness with each other. Gibbie was in the drawing-room, as it
happened, waiting their return. At the first sound of their voices,
he knew, before a syllable reached him that something was wrong.
When they entered, they were too much engrossed in difference to
heed his presence, and went on disputing--with the utmost external
propriety of words and demeanour, but with both injury and a sense
of injury in every tone. Had they looked at Gibbie, I cannot think
they would have been silenced; but while neither of them dared turn
eyes the way of him, neither had moral strength sufficient to check
the words that rose to the lips. A discreet, socially wise boy
would have left the room, but how could Gibbie abandon his friends
to the fiery darts of the wicked one! He ran to the side-table
before mentioned. With a vague presentiment of what was coming,
Mrs. Sclater, feeling rather than seeing him move across the room
like a shadow, sat in dread expectation; and presently her fear
arrived, in the shape of a large New Testament, and a face of loving
sadness, and keen discomfort, such as she had never before seen
Gibbie wear. He held out the book to her, pointing with a finger to
the words--she could not refuse to let her eyes fall upon
them--"Have salt in yourselves, and have peace one with another."
What Gibbie made of the salt, I do not know; and whether he
understood it or not was of little consequence, seeing he had it;
but the rest of the sentence