‘No, that won’t do either, Willie. I must have you taught, and I haven’t time to teach you myself. Neither am I scholar enough for it now; my learning has got rusty. I know your father would have wished to send you to college, and although I do not very well see how I can manage it, I must do the best I can. I’m not a rich man, you see, Willie, though I have a little laid by. I never could do much at making money, and I must not leave your aunt unprovided for.’ ‘No, uncle. Besides, I shall soon be able to work for myself and you too.’ ‘Not for a long time if you go to college, Willie. But we need not talk about that yet.’ In the evening I went to my uncle’s room. He was sitting by his fire reading the New Testament. ‘Please, uncle,’ I said, ‘will you tell me something about my father and mother?’ ‘With pleasure, my boy,’ he answered, and after a moment’s thought began to give me a sketch of my father’s life, with as many touches of the man himself as he could at the moment recall. I will not detain my reader with the narrative. It is sufficient to say that my father was a simple honourable man, without much education, but a great lover of plain books. His health had always been delicate; and before he died he had been so long an invalid that my mother’s health had given way in nursing him, so that she very soon followed him. As his narrative closed my uncle said: ‘Now, Willie, you see, with a good man like that for your father, you are bound to be good and honourable! Never mind whether people praise you or not; you do what you ought to do. And don’t be always thinking of your rights. There are people who consider themselves very grand because they can’t bear to be interfered with. They think themselves lovers of justice, when it is only justice to themselves they care about. The true lover of justice is one who would rather die a slave than interfere with the rights of others. To wrong any one is the most terrible thing in the world. Injustice _to_ you is not an awful thing like injustice _in_ you. I should like to see you a great man, Willie. Do you know what I mean by a great man?’ ‘Something else than I know, I’m afraid, uncle,’ I answered. ‘A great man is one who will try to do right against the devil himself: one who will not do wrong to please anybody or to save his life.’ I listened, but I thought with myself a man might do all that, and be no great man. I would do something better--some fine deed or other--I did not know what now, but I should find out by-and-by. My uncle was too easily pleased: I should demand more of a great man. Not so did the knights of old gain their renown. I was silent. ‘I don’t want you to take my opinions as yours, you know, Willie,’ my uncle resumed. ‘But I want you to remember what my opinion is.’ As he spoke, he went to a drawer in the room, and brought out something which he put in my hands. I could hardly believe my eyes. It was the watch grannie had given me.