over his head? It was verily a puzzle to Arthur. A light, sunny nature
was Hamish Channing's. This sobering blow which had fallen on it had
probably not come before it was needed. Had his bark been sailing for
ever in smooth waters, he might have wasted his life, indolently
basking on the calm, seductive waves. But the storm rose, the waves ran
high, threatening to engulf him, and Hamish knew that his best energies
must be put forth to surmount them. Never, never talk of troubles as
great, unmitigated evils: to the God-fearing, the God-trusting, they
are fraught with hidden love.

"Hamish, were I threatened with worry, as you are, I could not be
otherwise than oppressed and serious."

"Where would be the use of that?" cried gay Hamish. "Care killed a cat.
Look here, Arthur, you and your grave face! Did you ever know care do a
fellow good? I never did: but a great deal of harm. I shall manage to
scramble out of the pit somehow. You'll see." He put the note into his
pocket, as he spoke, and took up his hat to depart.

"Stop an instant longer, Hamish. I have just met Hopper."

"He did not convert you into a writ-server, I hope. I don't think it
would be legal."

"There you are, joking again! Hamish, he has the writ, but he does not
wish to serve it. You are to keep out of his way, he says, and he will
not seek to put himself in yours. My father was kind to him in days
gone by, and he remembers it now."

"He's a regular trump! I'll send him half-a-crown in a parcel,"