Donal Grant, by George MacDonald by George MacDonald;Donal Grant
page 74 of 729 (10%)
page 74 of 729 (10%)
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"Weel, whan I h'ard last aboot them, they were a' like eneuch to
turn oot honest lads an' lasses." "Ow, I daursay!" "An' what micht ye think the probability gien they had come intil a lot o' siller whan their father dee'd?" "Maybe they micht hae gane the same gait he gaed!" "Was there injustice than, or was there favour i' that veesitation o' the sins o' their father upo' them?" There was no answer. The toddy went down their throats and the smoke came out of their mouths, but no one dared acknowledge it might be a good thing to be born poor instead of rich. So entirely was the subject dropped that Donal feared he had failed to make himself understood. He did not know the general objection to talking of things on eternal principles. We set up for judges of right while our very selves are wrong! He saw that he had cast a wet blanket over the company, and judged it better to take his leave. Borrowing a wheelbarrow, he trundled his chest home, and unpacking it in the archway, carried his books and clothes to his room. CHAPTER X |
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