tion; it may mean that
thus he rebels against authority of father and teacher; it may be the
result of any one of a dozen causes. But whatever the cause stealing
is always associated with unhappiness, and the teacher must try to cure
the unhappiness.

In my _Dominie's Log_ I confessed that I liked to cheat the railway
company, and I excused it on the ground that "a ten-mile journey
without a ticket is the only romantic experience left in a drab world."
That was a delightful bit of rationalisation. The real reason for my
delinquency lay in my unconscious. As a child I impotently rebelled
against the authority of parents and teachers. Later in life I
unconsciously identified the railway company with the authorities of my
infancy. Authority said: "Don't do that or you will be smacked"; the
railway company put up a notice saying: "Don't travel without a ticket
or you'll be fined forty shillings."

My rebellion was really a rebellion against authority. This may seem
to be a far-fetched explanation, but the fact remains that now that I
have discovered the reason I have no more desire to cheat the railway
company.

* * * * *

Old Jeems Broon was buried to-day, and Dauvit went to the funeral. He
came back chuckling.

"What's the joke, Dauvit?" I asked.

"The burial service," laughed Dauvit. "You ken what sort o' a man
Jeems was; an auld sinner if there ever was a sinner in Tarbonny, a bad
auld scoondrel. Weel, Jeems hadna been at the kirk for twenty years,
and of coorse the minister didna ken ony thing aboot him. So when he
gave the funeral prayer he referred to auld Jeems as 'this holy man
whose life stands as an example to those still tarrying in the flesh.'
Goad, but I burst oot laughin'! I did that!"

"Had I been the minister," said I, "I should certainly have made a few
inquiries about Jeems."

"But there's a better story than that aboot the minister," went on
Dauvit with a laugh. "Mag Currie's little lassie had the diphtheria,
and at the end o' the week the minister was asked to come oot to tak' a
burial service in Mag's bed room. Man, he was eloquent! He spoke
earnestly aboot this flower plucked before it had reached its full
bloom, this innocent life so sadly cut off; he was most touchin' when
he turned to Mag and her man and said: 'Mourn not for those hands that
never did wrong, the lisping tongue that never spoke evil, the wide
pure eyes that looked their love for you