f you've little money left to come and go on."

"Yeth," lisped the Deacon; "if a man canna afford to College his son, he
had better put him in hith business--if he hath ainy business left to
thpeak o', that ith!"

The brake swung on through merry cornfields where reapers were at work,
past happy brooks flashing to the sun, through the solemn hush of
ancient and mysterious woods, beneath the great white-moving clouds and
blue spaces of the sky. And amid the suave enveloping greatness of the
world the human pismires stung each other and were cruel, and full of
hate and malice and a petty rage.

"Oh, damn it, enough of this!" said the baker at last.

"Enough of what?" blustered Brodie.

"Of you and your gibes," said the baker, with a wry mouth of disgust.
"Damn it, man, leave folk alane!"

Gourlay turned to him quietly. "Thank you, baker," he said slowly. "But
don't interfere on my behalf! John Gourla"--he dwelt on his name in
ringing pride--"John Gourla can fight for his own hand--if so there need
to be. And pay no heed to the thing before ye. The mair ye tramp on a
dirt it spreads the wider!"

"Who was referring to _you_?" bellowed Brodie.

Gourlay looked over at him in the far corner of the brake, with the
wide-open glower that made people blink. Brodie blinked rapidly, trying
to stare fiercely the while.

"Maybe ye werena referring to me," said Gourlay slowly. "But if _I_ had
been in your end o' the brake _ye_ would have been in hell or this!"

He had said enough. There was silence in the brake till it reached
Skeighan. But the evil was done. Enough had been said to influence
Gourlay to the most disastrous resolution of his life.

"Get yourself ready for the College in October," he ordered his son that
evening.

"The College!" cried John aghast.

"Yes! Is there ainything in that to gape at?" snapped his father, in
sudden irritation at the boy's amaze.

"But I don't want to gang!" John whimpered as before.

"Want! what does it matter what _you_ want? You should be damned glad of
the chance! I mean to make ye a minister; they have plenty of money and
little to do--a grand, easy life o't. MacCandlish tells me you're a
stupid ass, but have some little gift of words. You have every
qualification!"

"It's against _my_ will," John bawled angrily.

"_Your_ will!" sneered his father.

To John the command was not only tyrannical, but treacherous. There had
been nothing to warn him of a coming change, for G