In early life he had come under the influence of the writings of William Law, which he read as one who pondered every doctrine in that light which only obedience to the truth can open upon it. With a keen eye for the discovery of universal law in the individual fact, he read even the marvels of the New Testament practically. Hence, in training his soldiers, every lesson he gave them was a missile; every admonishment of youth or maiden was as the mounting of an armed champion, and the launching of him with a _God-speed_ into the thick of the fight. He now called up the Bible class, and Malcolm sat beside and listened. That morning they had to read one of the chapters in the history of Jacob. “Was Jacob a good man?” he asked, as soon as the reading, each of the scholars in turn taking a verse, was over. An apparently universal expression of assent followed; halting its wake, however, came the voice of a boy near the bottom of the class: “Wasna he some dooble, sir?” “You are right, Sheltie,” said the master; “he _was_ double. 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’. Ye’ve heard tell o’ generals, whan their troops war rinnin’ awa’, haein’ to cut this man doon, shute that ane, and lick anither, till he turned them a’ richt face aboot and drave them on to the foe like a spate! And the trouble God took wi’ Jacob wasna lost upon him at last.” “An’ what cam o’ Esau, sir?” asked a pale-faced maiden with blue eyes. “He wasna an ill kin’ o’ a chield--was he, sir?”