"Dinna beat around the bush, guidman; tell Davie at once that you want
him to go 'prentice to Mammon. He kens well enough whether he can serve
him or no."

"I want Davie to go 'prentice to your ain brither, guid wife--it's nane
o' my doing if you ca' your ain kin ill names--and, Davie, your uncle
maks you a fair offer, an' you'll just be a born fool to refuse it."

"What is it, father?"

"Twa years you are to serve him for £200 a year; and at the end, if both
are satisfied, he will gie you sich a share in the business as I can buy
you--and, Davie, I'se no be scrimping for such an end. It's the auldest
bank in Soho, an' there's nane atween you and the head o' it. Dinna
fling awa' good fortune--dinna do it, Davie, my dear lad. I hae look it
to you for twenty years to finish what I hae begun--for twenty years I
hae been telling mysel' 'my Davie will win again the bonnie braes o'
Ellenmount.'"

There were tears in old Andrew's eyes, and David's heart thrilled and
warmed to the old man's words; in that one flash of sympathy they came
nearer to each other than they had ever done before.

And then spoke his mother: "Davie, my son, you'll no listen to ony sich
temptation. My brither is my brither, and there are few folk o' the
Gordon line a'thegither wrang, but Alexander Gordon is a dour man, and I
trow weel you'll serve hard for ony share in his money bags. You'll just
gang your ways back to college and tak' up your Greek and Hebrew and
serve in the Lord's temple instead of Alexander Gordon's Soho Bank; and,
Davie, if you'll do right in this matter you'll win my blessing and