as well as patience is free to work its perfect work. In that
glance Donal saw a ripe soul looking out of its tent door, ready to
rush into the sunshine of the new life.

He stood for a moment lost in eternal regard of the man. He seemed
to have known him for ages. The cobbler looked up again.

"Ye'll be wantin' a han' frae me i' my ain line, I'm thinkin'!" he
said, with a kindly nod towards Donal's shoeless feet.

"Sma' doobt!" returned Donal. "I had scarce startit, but was ower
far to gang back, whan the sole o' ae shue cam aff, an' I had to
tramp it wi' baith my ain."

"An' ye thankit the Lord for the auld blessin' o' bein' born an'
broucht up wi' soles o' yer ain!"

"To tell the trowth," answered Donal, "I hae sae mony things to be
thankfu' for, it's but sma' won'er I forget mony ane o' them. But
noo, an' I thank ye for the exhortation, the Lord's name be praist
'at he gae me feet fit for gangin' upo'!"

He took his shoes from his back, and untying the string that bound
them, presented the ailing one to the cobbler.

"That's what we may ca' deith!" remarked the cobbler, slowly turning
the invalided shoe.

"Ay, deith it is," answered Donal; "it's a sair divorce o' sole an'
body."