“I know that, sir; and if I wanted, my grandfather would not let me. While my work is yours, it is all yours, sir.” With that he turned, and left Arthur where he stood a little relieved, though now annoyed as well that a man in his employment should not have waited to be dismissed. Hastening to the smithy, he found his grandfather putting off his apron to go home for a cup of tea. “Oh, there you are!” he said. “I thought we should be catching sight of you before long!” “How's Alice, grandfather? You might be sure I should want to know!” “She's been asleep all day, the best thing for her!” “I hope, grandfather,” said Richard, for Simon's tone troubled him a little, “you are not vexed with me! I assure you I had nothing to do with her coming down here--that I know of. You would not have had me leave her sitting there, out on that stone in the moonlight, all night long, a ghost before her time without a grave to go to? She would have been dead before the morning! She must have been! I am certain _you_ would not have left her there!” “God forbid, lad! If you thought me out of temper with you, it was a mistake. I confess the thing does bother me, but I'm not blaming _you_. You acted like a Christian.” Richard hardly relished the mode of his grandfather's approbation. A man ought to do the right thing because he was a man, not because he was something else than a man! He had yet to learn that a man and a Christian are precisely and entirely the same thing; that a being who is not a Christian is not a man. I perfectly know how absurd this must seem to many, but such do not see what I see. No one, however strong he may feel his obligations, will ever be man enough to fulfill them except he be a Christian--that is, one who, like Christ, cares first for the will of the Father. One who thinks he can meet his obligations now, can have no idea what is required of him in virtue of his being what he is--no idea of what his own nature requires of him. So much is required that nothing more could be required. Let him ask himself whether he is doing what he requires of himself. If he answer, “I can do it without Christianity anyway,” I reply, “Do it; try to do it, and I know where the honest endeavour will bring you. Don't try to do it, and you are not man enough to be worth reasoning with.” Simon and his grandson had not yet turned the corner, when Richard heard a snort he knew: there, sure enough, stood Miss Brown, hitched to the garden-paling, peaceable but impatient. “Miss Wylder here!” said Richard. “Yes, lad! She's been here an hour and more. Jessie came and told me, but I knew it: I heard the mare, and knew the sound of my own shoes on her!--I doubt if she'll stand it much longer though!” he added, as she pawed the road. “Well, she's a fine creature!” “Yes, she's a good mare!” “I don't mean the mare! I mean the mistress!” “Miss Wylder is just noble!” said Richard. “But I'm afraid she got into trouble last night!”