And Cupples not
only liked the face, but felt that he was in the presence of one of the
higher natures of the world???-made to command, or rather, which is far
better, to influence. Before he had time to reply, however, Thomas
resumed:
"Ye hae had a heap o' tribble, I doobt, wi' that laddie, Alec Forbes."
"Naething mair nor was nateral," answered Cupples.
"He's a fine crater, though. I ken that weel. Is he come back, do ye
think?"
"What do ye mean? He's lyin' in's bed, quaiet eneuch, puir fallow!"
"Is he come back to the fold?"
"Nae to the missionars, I'm thinkin'."
"Dinna anger me. Ye're nae sae ignorant as ye wad pass for. Ye ken weel
eneuch what I mean. What care I for the missionars mair nor ony ither
o' the Lord's fowk, 'cep that they're mair like his fowk nor ony ither
that I hae seen?"
"Sic like's Robert Bruce, for a sample."
Thomas stopped as if he had struck against a stone wall, and went back
on his track.
"What I want to ken is whether Alec unnerstans yet that the prodigal's
aye ill aff; and???-"
"Na," interrupted Cupples. "He's never been cawed to the swine yet. Nor
he sudna be, sae lang's I had a saxpence to halve wi' him.
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