I must,
I find, put the question in another shape:--Was Jacob a bad man?"
Again came such a burst of yesses that it might have been taken
for a general hiss. But limping in the rear came again the half
dissentient voice of Jamie Joss, whom the master had just addressed
as Sheltie:
"Pairtly, sir."
"You think, then, Sheltie, that a man may be both bad and good?"
"I dinna ken, sir. I think he may be whiles ane an' whiles the
ither, an' whiles maybe it wad be ill to say whilk. Oor collie's
whiles in twa min's whether he'll du what he's telled or no."
"That's the battle of Armageddon, Sheltie, my man. It's aye ragin',
ohn gun roared or bayonet clashed. Ye maun up an' do yer best in't,
my man. Gien ye dee fechtin' like a man, ye'll flee up wi' a quaiet
face an' wide open een; an' there's a great Ane 'at 'll say to ye,
'Weel dune, laddie!' But gien ye gie in to the enemy, he'll turn ye
intill a creepin' thing 'at eats dirt; an' there 'll no be a hole
in a' the crystal wa' o' the New Jerusalem near eneuch to the grun'
to lat ye creep throu'."
As soon as ever Alexander Graham, the polished thinker and sweet
mannered gentleman, opened his mouth concerning the things he
loved best, that moment the most poetic forms came pouring out in
the most rugged speech.
"I reckon, sir," said Sheltie, "Jacob hadna fouchten oot his battle."
"That's jist it, my boy. And because he wouldna get up and fecht
manfully, God had to tak him in han'.
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