Tallisker on church government; they sang Robert Burns' most
democratic songs in Crawford's very presence.

Then Colin contrasted them physically with the great fellows he had
been accustomed to see striding over the hills, and he despised the
forms stunted by working in low seams and unhealthy vapors and the
faces white for lack of sunshine and grimy with the all-pervading coal
dust. The giants who toiled in leather masks and leather suits before
the furnaces suited his taste better. When he watched them moving
about amid the din and flames and white-hot metal, he thought of
Vulcan and Mount Ætna, and thus threw over them the enchantments of
the old Roman age. But in their real life the men disappointed him.
They were vulgar and quarrelsome; the poorest Highland gillie had a
vein of poetry in his nature, but these iron-workers were painfully
matter of fact; they could not even understand a courtesy unless it
took the shape of a glass of whiskey.

It was evident to the laird that the new life was very distasteful to
his heir; it was evident to the dominie that it was developing the
worst sides of Colin's character. Something of this he pointed out to
Helen one morning. Helen and he had lately become great friends,
indeed, they were co-workers together in all the new labors which the
dominie's conscience had set him. The laird had been too busy and
anxious about other matters to interfere as yet with this alliance,
but he promised himself he would do so very soon. Helen Crawford was
not going to nurse sick babies and sew for all the old women in the
clachan much longer. And the night-school! This was particularly
offensive to him. Some of the new men had gone there, and Crawford was
sure he was in some way defrauded by it. He thought it impossible to
work in the day and study an hour at night. In some way he suffered by