Gladys laid her hand on his arm, and her eyes shone upon him. 'It will not be your gospel, Walter, that I know. Some day you will be a rich man, perhaps, and then you will show the world what a rich man can do. Isn't there a verse in the Bible which says, "Blessed is he that considereth the poor"? You will consider the poor then, Walter, and I will help you. We shall be able to do it all the better because we have been so poor ourselves.' It was a new evangel for that proud, restless, bitter young heart, upon which the burden of life already pressed so heavily. Gladys did not know till long after, that these words, spoken out of the fulness of her sympathy, made a man of him from that very day, and awakened in him the highest aspirations which can touch a human soul. [Illustration] CHAPTER VII. LIZ SPEAKS HER MIND. 'Wat,' said Liz Hepburn to her brother next time he came home, 'what kind o' a lassie is thon?' It was a question difficult for Walter to answer, and, Scotch-like, he solved it by putting another. 'What do you think of her?' 'I dinna ken; she's no' like ither folk.' 'But you liked her, Liz?' said Walter, with quite evident anxiety. 'Oh ay; but she's queer. How does she get on wi' Skinny?' 'Well enough. I believe he likes her, Liz, if he would let on.' Liz made a grimace. 'I daursay, if he can like onything. I telt her my mind on the business plain, an' offered to get her into our mill.' 'Oh, Liz, you might have had more sense! Her work in a mill!' cried Walter, with more energy than elegance. 'An' what for no'?' queried Liz sharply. 'I suppose she's the same flesh and bluid as me.' 'Shut up, you twa,' said a querulous, peevish voice from the ingle-neuk, where the mother, dull-eyed, depressed, and untidy, sat with her elbows on her knees. She was in a poor state of health, and had not recovered from the last week's outburst. It was Saturday night, but there was no pay forthcoming from the head of the house, who was still in Duke Street Prison. Walter looked at his mother fixedly for a moment, and the shadow deepened on his face. She was certainly an unlovely object in her dirty, unkempt gown, her hair half hanging on her neck, her heavy face looking as if it had not seen soap and water for long, her dull eyes unlit by any gleam of intelligence. Of late, since they had grown more dissipated in their habits, Walter had fallen on the plan of keeping back his wages till the beginning of the week--the only way in which to ensure them food. Seldom, indeed, was anything left after Saturday and Sunday's carousal. 'Is there anything the matter the day, mother?' he asked quite kindly and gently, being moved by a sudden feeling of compassion for her. 'No, naething; but I'm clean dune. Wad ye no' bring in a drap, Wat?' she said coaxingly, and her eye momentarily brightened with anticipation.