is high calling.

It was some time before Donal had any pupils, and he never had many,
for he was regarded as a most peculiar man, with ideas about education
odd in the extreme. It was granted, however, that, if a boy stayed, or
rather if he allowed him to stay with him long enough, he was sure to
turn out a gentleman: that which was deeper and was the life of the
gentleman, people seldom saw--would seldom have valued if they had
seen. Most parents would like their children to be ladies and
gentlemen; that they should be sons and daughters of God, they do not
care!

The few wise souls in the neighbourhood know Donal as the heart of the
place--the man to go to in any difficulty, in any trouble or
apprehension.

Miss Carmichael grew by degrees less talkative, and less obtrusive of
her opinions. After some years she condescended to marry a farmer on
lord Morven's estate. Their only child, a thoughtful boy, and a true
reader, sought the company of the grave man with the sweet smile, going
often to his house to ask him about this or that. He reminded him of
Davie, and grew very dear to him. The mother discovering that, as often
as he stole away, it was to go to the master--everybody called him the
maister--scolded and forbade. But the prohibition brought such a time
of tears and gloom and loss of appetite, and her husband so little
shared her prejudices against the master, that she was compelled to
recall it, and the boy went and went as before. When he was taken ill,
and on his deathbed, nobody could make him happy but the master; he
almost nursed him through the last few days of his short earthly life.
But the mother seemed not to like him any the better--rather to regard
him as having deprived her of some of her rights in the love of her boy.

Donal is still a present power of heat and light in the town of
Auchars. He wears the same solemn look, the same hovering smile. They
say to those who can read them, "I know in whom I have believed." It is
the God who is the Father of the Lord that he believes in. His life is
hid with Christ in God, and he has no anxiety about anything. The
wheels of the coming chariot, moving fast or slow to fetch him, are
always moving; and whether it arrive at night, or at cock-crowing, or
in the blaze of noon, is one to him. He is ready for the life his
Arctura knows. "God is," he says, "and all is well." He never disputes,
rarely seeks to convince. "I will let what light I have shine; but