"Duty asks nothing of me, sir, in regard to St. Andrews. I have seen the world has now one test. It asks of every man and of every proposition, _Will it work?_ If it will not, it must go. I could not do any kind of work in a university. Plenty of better men than I am would work splendidly there. I should die of spiritual and mental nausea. I have considered university life, both as regards law and medicine. I thought we might compromise, perhaps, on medicine, but my feeling is the same. I am an open-air man. I want to live with every part of my body at the same time, not with my brain only--to be tethered to a desk with a book, whether ledger or Bible, would be to me a dreadful existence." "We will put _me_ out of the question. Do I not deserve some honor and obedience? It is my positive will that you should go to St. Andrews." "In order to give you pleasure, sir, I might be willing to give up, say three of the best years of my life, but you would then want the whole of my life to preach Calvinism." "I have given my youth and my life to preach Calvinism or the Truth--they are the same thing." "If Calvinism is true, sir, then I think my opinion ought to have been asked before I was sent into the world on such terms." "This talk is irrelevant. What I ask of you is, will you go to St. Andrews and study Divinity? Donald, I will make it as pleasant as I can for you--will you go?" "No, sir. Forgive me. I cannot." Dr. Macrae looked steadily at his son, and his large, lambent eyes were full of tears. "It is for your salvation, Donald. My son, think again, your father asks of you this favor--for your own good." Donald was even more moved than his father and, if he had followed his instincts, he would have fallen at his father's knees and said, "I am your son. I will do all you wish." But his resolve was not a something of yesterday, and his will was the strongest force in his nature. He put all feeling under its majestic orders and, though his heart was aching with sorrow, he answered, "Forgive me, Father. I must take my own way. I must live my own life." Then Dr. Macrae turned his face toward his desk. It was covered with papers and he lifted a pen and began to write. Donald waited patiently, neither speaking nor moving for about five minutes. Then his father lifted his head and said with cold politeness, "You can go, sir, there is nothing more to say." "I would like to tell you something about my plans, Father." Dr. Macrae went on writing and did not answer. In a few moments Donald continued: "I have resolved to go----" "I have no interest in your plans, sir." "But Father, listen." Then Dr. Macrae threw down his pen. It fell upon his sermon and left a large, unsightly blot which irritated him. He did not speak, however, but by an almost imperceptible movement of his eyes and outstretched hand said to Donald more plainly than words could have done, "Leave the room!"