Part 4 (2/2)
He stood for a moment lost in eternal regard of the man. He seemed to have known him for ages. The cobbler looked up again.
”Ye'll be wantin' a han' frae me i' my ain line, I'm thinkin'!” he said, with a kindly nod towards Donal's shoeless feet.
”Sma' doobt!” returned Donal. ”I had scarce start.i.t, but was ower far to gang back, whan the sole o' ae shue cam aff, an' I had to tramp it wi' baith my ain.”
”An' ye thankit the Lord for the auld blessin' o' bein' born an'
broucht up wi' soles o' yer ain!”
”To tell the trowth,” answered Donal, ”I hae sae mony things to be thankfu' for, it's but sma' won'er I forget mony ane o' them. But noo, an' I thank ye for the exhortation, the Lord's name be praist 'at he gae me feet fit for gangin' upo'!”
He took his shoes from his back, and untying the string that bound them, presented the ailing one to the cobbler.
”That's what we may ca' deith!” remarked the cobbler, slowly turning the invalided shoe.
”Ay, deith it is,” answered Donal; ”it's a sair divorce o' sole an'
body.”
”It's a some auld-farrand joke,” said the cobbler, ”but the fun intil a thing doesna weir oot ony mair nor the poetry or the trowth intil't.”
”Who will say there was no providence in the loss of my shoe-sole!”
remarked Donal to himself. ”Here I am with a friend already!”
The cobbler was submitting the shoes, first the sickly one, now the sound one, to a thorough scrutiny.
”Ye dinna think them worth men'in', I doobt!” said Donal, with a touch of anxiety in his tone.
”I never thoucht that whaur the leather wad haud the steik,” replied the cobbler. ”But whiles, I confess, I'm jist a wheen tribled to ken hoo to chairge for my wark. It's no barely to consider the time it'll tak me to cloot a pair, but what the weirer 's like to git oot o' them.
I canna tak mair nor the job 'ill be worth to the weirer. An' yet the waur the shune, an' the less to be made o' them, the mair time they tak to mak them worth onything ava'!”
”Surely ye oucht to be paid in proportion to your labour.”
”I' that case I wad whiles hae to say til a puir body 'at hadna anither pair i' the warl', 'at her ae pair o' shune wasna worth men'in'; an'
that wad be a hertbrak, an' sair feet forby, to sic as couldna, like yersel', sir, gang upo' the Lord's ain shune.”
”But hoo mak ye a livin' that w'y?” suggested Donal.
”Hoots, the maister o' the trade sees to my wauges!”
”An' wha may he be?” asked Donal, well foreseeing the answer.
”He was never cobbler himsel', but he was ance carpenter; an' noo he's lift.i.t up to be heid o' a' the trades. An' there's ae thing he canna bide, an' that's close parin'.”
He stopped. But Donal held his peace, waiting; and he went on.
”To them 'at maks little, for reasons good, by their neebour, he gies the better wauges whan they gang hame. To them 'at maks a' 'at they can, he says, 'Ye helpit yersel'; help awa'; ye hae yer reward. Only comena near me, for I canna bide ye'.--But aboot thae shune o' yours, I dinna weel ken! They're weel eneuch worth duin' the best I can for them; but the morn's Sunday, an' what hae ye to put on?”
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