“Love is but cauldrife cheer, my lad,” said Janet, “an’ the breast o’ a bird an’ a raspberry tartlet will be nane out o’ the way.”  David was of the same opinion.  He was very willing to enjoy Janet’s good things and the pleasant light and warmth.  Besides, Janet was his oldest confidant and friend—­a friend that had never failed him in any of his boyish troubles or youthful scrapes.

It gave her pleasure enough for a while to watch him eat, but when he pushed aside the bird and stretched out his hand for the raspberry dainties, she said, “Now talk a bit, my lad.  If others hae wared money on you, I hae wared love, an’ I want to ken whether you are going to college, or whether you are going to Lunnon amang the proud, fause Englishers?”

“I am going to London, Janet.”

“Whatna for?”

“I am not sure that I have any call to be a minister, Janet—­it is a solemn charge.”

“Then why not ask for a sure call?  There is nae key to God’s council chamber that I ken of.”

“Mary wants me to go to London.”

“Ech, sirs!  Sets Deacon Moir’s dochter to send a lad a wrang road.  I wouldna hae thocht wi’ her bringing up she could hae swithered for a moment—­but it’s the auld, auld story; where the deil canna go by himsel’ he sends a woman.  And David Lockerby will tyne his inheritance for a pair o’ blue e’en and a handfu’ o’ gowden curls.  Waly! waly! but the children o’ Esau live for ever.”

“Mary said,”—­

“I dinna want to hear what Mary said.  It would hae been nae loss if she’d ne’er spoken on the matter; but if you think makin’ money, an’ hoarding money is the measure o’ your capacity you ken yousel’, sir, dootless.  Howsomever you’ll go to your ain room now; I’m no going to keep my auld e’en waking just for a common business body.”

Thus in spite of his father’s support, David did not find his road to London as fair and straight as he could have wished.  Janet was deeply offended at him, and she made him feel it in a score of little ways very annoying to a man fond of creature comforts and human sympathy.  His mother went about the necessary preparations in a tearful mood that was a constant reproach, and his friend Willie did not scruple to tell him that “he was clean out o’ the way o’ duty.”

“God has given you a measure o’ St. Paul’s power o’ argument, Davie, and the verra tongue o’ Apollos—­weapons wherewith to reason against all unrighteousness and to win the souls o’ men.”

“Special pleading, Willie.”

“Not at all.  Every man’s life bears its inscription if he will take the trouble to read it.  There was James Grahame, born, as you may say, wi’ a sword in his hand, and Bauldy Strang wi’ a spade, and Andrew Semple took to the balances and the ’rithmetic as a duck takes to the water.  Do you not mind the day you spoke anent the African missions to the young men in St. Andrews’ Ha’?  Your words flew like arrows—­every ane o’ them to its mark; and your heart burned and your e’en glowed, till we were a’ on fire with you, and there wasna a lad there that wouldna hae followed you to the vera Equator.  I wouldna dare to bury such a power for good, Davie, no, not though I buried it fathoms deep in gold.”