might be. I canna thrash ye this day. But ye shall gae nae mair to
school. I send ye there to learn. Ye'll not learn--ye've learnt
naethin' except disobedience to me-ye shall stop at hame and
work."

His father's rare emotion, his broken voice and working face,
moved David as all the stripes and jeers had failed to do. His
conscience smote him. For the first time in his life it dimly dawned
on him that, perhaps, his father, too, had some ground for
complaint; that, perhaps, he was not a good son.

He half turned.

"Feyther--"

"Git oot o' ma sight!" M'Adam cried.

And the boy turned and went.

Chapter VI. A LICKING OR A LIE

THENCEFORWARD David buckled down to work at home, and
in one point only father and son resembled--industry. A drunkard
M'Adam was, but a drone, no.

The boy worked at the Grange with tireless, indomitable energy;
yet he could never satisfy his father.

The little man would stand, a sneer on his face and his thin lips
contemptuously curled, and flout the lad's brave labors.