That evening, in the schoolmaster's lodgings. Truffey sat at the
tea-table triumphant. The master had been so pleased with an exercise
which he had written for him--written in verse too--that he had taken
the boy home to tea with him, dried him well at his fire, and given him
as much buttered toast as he could eat. Truffey had often had a like
privilege, but never for an ovation, as now. How he loved the master!
"Truffey," said Mr Malison, after a long pause, during which he had
been staring into the fire, "how's your leg?"
"Quite weel, thank ye, sir," answered Truffey, unconsciously putting
out the foot of the wrong leg on the fender. "There wasna onything the
maitter wi' 't."
"I mean the other leg, Truffey--the one that I--that I--hurt."
"Perfectly weel, sir. It's no worth speirin' efter. I wonner that ye
tak sic pains wi' me, sir, whan I was sic a nickum."
The master could not reply. But he was more grateful for Truffey's
generous forgiveness than he would have been for the richest living in
Scotland. Such forgiveness is just giving us back ourselves--clean and
happy. And for what gift can we be more grateful? He vowed over again
to do all he could for Truffey.
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