“I had an uncle, as decent a man as ever was, that listed in his young days,” said another. Jeanie received these consolations with her habitual smile. “I think that too,” she said. “There wouldna be so muckle about good sodgers in the Bible if they were all bad men that listed; and so I’ve tellt him.” So close to her heart did she wear it, that nobody suspected Jeanie’s own private cincture of care. CHAPTER X. “Papa has no objections,” said Margaret, demurely; “he says if you will come he will be--glad to see you.” This, however, being an addition made on the spot, she faltered over it, not quite knowing how it was to be supported by fact; and she added, timidly, “Will you really take all that trouble for me? Perhaps I am stupid. I think very likely I am stupid; for I cannot draw anything-- I have been trying,” she said, with a great blush. “You have been trying! I should like to see what you have done. If you could have seen my stumbles and blunders, you would have had no respect for me at all,” said Rob Glen; “and how I dare now to take upon me to teach you, who probably know more than I do--” “Oh, I know nothing at all--just nothing at all! What shall we do, Mr.--Glen? I found a book and some pencils. I think there is everything in the world up in the old presses in the high room. What shall we do first? Might I begin with--the house? or a tree?” “There are some preliminary exercises,” said Rob, “that are thought necessary; very simple--drawing straight lines, and curves, and corners. I am sure you will do them all--by instinct.” “Oh!” said Margaret again. Her countenance fell. “But any child would draw straight lines; a straight line is nothing--it is just that,” she added, tracing a line in the soft, brown, upturned earth of the ploughed field through which the path ran. But when Margaret looked at it, she reddened and furtively attempted another. She had met Rob by the burn as before, and he was walking back with her toward home. The sky was overcast and lowering. The brief interval of lovely weather had for the moment come to an end. Clouds were gathering on all the hills, and the winds sighed about the hedges, heavy with coming rain. “The furrow is straight,” said Rob, “straight as an arrow; that is the ploughman’s pride; but it is not so easy to draw a straight line as you think. I have known people who could never do it.” Margaret was crimson with the failure. “It’s me that am stupid!” she cried, in sudden rage with herself. “How do the ploughmen learn to do it? There’s nobody to show them the way.” “It’s their pride; and it’s their trade, Miss Margaret.” “Oh!” cried Margaret, stamping her foot, “it shall be my pride, and my trade too. I will begin to-night when I go home. I will never, never rest till I can do it.”