il
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 tak
them hame to ye. Whaur wull ye be?"

"That's what I wad fain hae ye tell me," answered Donal. "I had thoucht
to put up at the Morven Airms, but there's something I dinna like aboot
the lan'lord. Ken ye ony dacent, clean place, whaur they wad gie me a
room to mysel', an' no seek mair nor I could pey them?"

"We hae a bit roomie oorsel's," said the cobbler, "at the service o'
ony dacent wayfarin' man that can stan' the smell, an' put up wi' oor
w'ys. For peyment, ye can pey what ye think it's worth. We're never
varra partic'lar."

"I tak yer offer wi' thankfu'ness," answered Donal.

"Weel, gang ye in at that door jist 'afore ye, an' ye'll see the
guidwife--there's nane ither til see. I wad gang wi' ye mysel', but I
canna, wi' this shue o' yours to turn intil a Sunday ane!"

Donal went to the door indicated. It stood wide open; for while the
cobbler sat outside at his work, his wife would never shut the door. He
knocked, but there came no answer.

"She's some dull o' hearin'," said the cobbler, and called her by his
own name for her.

"Doory! Doory!" he said.

"She canna be that deif gien she hears ye!" said Donal; for he spoke
hardly louder than usual.

"Whan God gies you a wife, may she be ane