ing
forward in his chair.

"'Twas me as took Mr. Moore's Cup," the boy replied. "I thowt yo' mun
ha' done wi' it--I found it all bashed upon the floor."

"You took it--pit up to it, nae doot, by James Moore."

David made a gesture of dissent.

"Ay, by James Moore," his father continued. "He dursena come hissel'
for his ill-gotten spoils, so he sent the son to rob the father. The
coward!"--his whole frame shook with passion. "I'd ha' thocht James
Moore'd ha' bin man enough to come himself for what he wanted. I see noo
I did him a wrang--I misjudged him. I kent him a heepocrite; ain o' yer
unco gudes; a man as looks one thing, says anither, and does a third;
and noo I ken he's a coward. He's fear'd o' me, sic as I am, five foot
twa in ma stockin's." He rose from his chair and drew himself up to his
full height.

"Mr. Moore had nowt to do wi' it," David persisted.

"Ye're lyin'. James Moore pit ye to it."

"I tell yo' he did not."

"Ye'd ha' bin willin' enough wi'oot him, if ye'd thocht o't, I grant ye.
But ye've no the wits. All there is o' ye has gane to mak' yer muckle
body. Hooiver, that's no matter. I'll settle wi' James Moore anither
time. I'll settle wi' you noo, David M'Adam."

He paused, and looked the boy over from bead to foot.

"So, ye're not only an idler! a wastrel! a liar!"--he spat the words
out. "Ye're--God help ye--a thief!"

"I'm no thief!" the boy returned hotly. "I did but give to a mon what ma
feyther--shame on him!--wrongfully kept from him."

"Wrangfully?" cried the little man, advancing with burning face.

"'Twas honorably done, keepin' what wasna your'n to keep! Holdin' back
his rights from a man! Ay, if ony one's the thief, it's not me: it's
you, I say, you!"--and he looked his father in the face with flashing
eyes.

"I'm the thief, am I?" cried the other, incoherent with passion. "Though
ye're three times ma size, I'll teach ma son to speak so to me."

The old strap, now long disused, hung in the chimney corner. As he spoke
the little man sprang back, ripped it from the wall, and, almost before
David realized what he was at, had brought it down with a savage slash
across his son's shoulders; and as he smote he whistled a shrill,
imperative note:

"Wullie, Wullie, to me!"

David felt the blow through his coat like a bar of hot iron laid across
his back. His passion seethed within him; every vein throbbed; every
nerve quivered. In a minute he would wipe out, once and for all,