it.

"If they werna in the schoolroom they would be in the Change House,"
Tallisker had argued.

But the laird thought in his heart that the whiskey would be more to
his advantage than the books. Yet he did not like to say so; there was
something in the dominie's face which restrained him. He had opened
the subject in that blustering way which always hides the white
feather somewhere beneath it, and Tallisker had answered with a solemn
severity,

"Crawford, it seems to be your wark to mak money; it is mine to save
souls. Our roads are sae far apart we arena likely to run against each
other, if we dinna try to."

"But I don't like the way you are doing your wark; that is all,
dominie."

"Mammon never did like God's ways. There is a vera old disagreement
between them. A man has a right to consider his ain welfare, Crawford,
but it shouldna be mair than the twa tables o' the law to him."

Now Tallisker was one of those ministers who bear their great
commission in their faces. There was something almost imperial about
the man when he took his stand by the humblest altar of his duty.
Crawford had intended at this very time to speak positively on the
subject of his own workers to Tallisker. But when he looked at the
dark face, set and solemn and full of an irresistible authority, he
was compelled to keep silence. A dim fear that Tallisker would say