"Oo ay," said Hall. "I’m lang eneuch in the warld to ken _that_ advice! But what care I for the advice o’ you or ony man? It was for me, nae doot, ye intended that lesson? I’m as gleg as a fish rising to a flee! The lassock said we should love our faither! Hoo daur you or ony man say that tae me?" Then, leaning forward with staring eyes and clenched fist, he said, "I hated my faither! I hated my mither! They hated me. My faither was a Gospel man; he gaed to the kirk on Sabbath--wha but him!--and he drank when he could get it the rest o’ the week; an’ he threshed my mither and us time aboot--me warst o’ a’, as I was the youngest. I focht mony a laddie for lauchin’ at him and for ca’in him names when he was fou, and mony a bluidy nose I got; but he threshed me the mair. My mither, tae, gaed to the kirk, and begged claes for me and my brithers and sisters frae guid folk, and said that my faither wasna weel and couldna work. Oh, mony a lee I telt for them baith! And she drank, as weel, and focht wi’ my faither and us time aboot. And syne they selt a’ their claes and a’ their blankets, and left us wi’ toom stomachs and toom hearts, cowerin’ aboot a toom grate wi’ cauld cinders. I never was at skule, but was cuffed and kickit like a doug; and my wee brithers and sisters a’ dee’d--I dinna ken hoo: but they were starved and threshed, puir things! But they were waik, and I was strang. Sae I leeved--waes me! I leeved! I hae sat oot in the plantin’ mony a nicht greetin’ for my brither Jamie, for he had a sair cough and dwined awa’, naked and starved. He aye gied me his bit bread that he stealt or beggit"--and Jock cleared his throat and wiped his forehead with a scrap of a ragged handkerchief. "But my faither and mither dee’d, thank God! I hate them noo, and they hated me--they hated me, they did"--and he fell into a sort of dream. His vehemence sank into a whisper; and he spoke as one in sleep--"An’ a’ folks hate me--hate me. An’ what for no’? I hate _them_!--God forgive me! Na, na! I’ll no’ say _that_. There’s nae God! But I believe in the Deevil--that I do, firmly." Jock sank back in his chair, as if wearied, and closed his eyes, his chest heaving. Then opening his eyes, he said in a low tone, "The bird kens that! Wha’ telt him?" and his eyes were again closed. "Jock, my man," said the Sergeant, perplexed, yet kindly, "_I_ dinna hate ye." But Jock went on as in a dream. "I hae led an awfu’ life o’t! I hae starved and stealt; I hae poached and robbed; I hae cursed and drank; I hae ’listed and deserted; I hae lain oot on muirs and in mosses. I’m Jock Hall! a’body kens me, and a’ hate me as I do them! And what guid did yer ministers and elders, yer Sabbath days and yer preachings, do for me? Curse them a’, I say! what’s Jock Hall’s saul worth! It’s no’ worth the burnin’! What care I? ’Cock-a-Bendy’s lying sick, Guess what’ll mend him? Hang the blackguard by the throat, And that’ll soon end him!"