"Ye s' hae't, sir," he said, "gien I sit a' nicht at it! The ane
'll du till Monday. Ye s' hae't afore kirk-time, but ye maun come
intil the hoose to get it, for the fowk wud be scunnert to see me
workin' upo' the Sabbath-day. They dinna un'erstan' 'at the Maister
works Sunday an' Setterday--an' his Father as weel!"

"Ye dinna think, than, there's onything wrang in men'in' a pair o'
shune on the Sabbath-day?"

"Wrang!--in obeyin' my Maister, whase is the day, as weel's a' the
days? They wad fain tak it frae the Son o' Man, wha's the lord o'
't, but they canna!"

He looked up over the old shoe with eyes that flashed.

"But then--excuse me," said Donal, "--why shouldna ye haud yer face
til 't, an' work openly, i' the name o' God?"

"We're telt naither to du oor gude warks afore men to be seen o'
them, nor yet to cast oor pearls afore swine. I coont cobblin' your
shoes, sir, a far better wark nor gaein' to the kirk, an' I wadna
hae't seen o' men. Gien I war warkin' for poverty, it wad be
anither thing."

This last Donal did not understand, but learned afterwards what the
cobbler meant: the day being for rest, the next duty to helping
another was to rest himself. To work for fear of starving would be
to distrust the Father, and act as if man lived by bread alone.

"Whan I think o' 't," he resumed after a pause, "bein' Sunday, I'll