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Updated: June 15, 2025
Dawtie was so touched by the kindness and forbearance of her master that the tears rose in her eyes, and she felt strengthened for her task. What would she not have encountered for his deliverance! "Please, sir," she said, "let me show you a thing you never perhaps happened to read!"
"Yes, I have, sir," answered Dawtie, sorry she had brought out the question. "And you know the worth of the thing?" "Yes, sir; that is, I don't know how much it was worth, but I should say pounds and pounds." "Then, Dawtie, I must ask you again, where is it?" "I know nothing about it, sir. I wish I did!" "Why do you wish you did?"
His rugged face was twisted with emotion. A dam of ice melted in his heart. The voice with which he spoke, broken with feeling, betrayed how greatly he was shaken. "My bairn! My wee dawtie! To God be the thanks." She clung to him, trying to control her sobs. He stroked her hair and kissed her, murmuring Gaelic words of endearment. A thought pierced him, like a sword-thrust.
"Dawtie," answered Andrew, "the Lord never does the next best. The thing He does is always better than the thing He does not." "Lat me think, an' I'll try to un'erstan'," said Dawtie, but Andrew went on. "The best thing, whan a body's no ready for 't, would be the warst to gie him or ony gait no the thing for the Father o' lichts to gie.
"Well, then, what am I to do?" persisted Dawtie. "Wait, of course, till you know what to do. When you don't know what to do, don't do anything only keep asking the Thinker for wisdom. And until you know, don't let the laird see that you know anything." With this answer Dawtie was content. Business was over, and they turned to go home. The old man had a noteworthy mental fabric.
She knew better, however, than require magnificence in any shape from the poor wizened soul of her master a man who knew all about everything, and whom yet she could not but fear to be nothing: as Dawtie had learned to understand life, the laird did not yet exist. But he well knew right from wrong, therefore the discovery she just made affected her duty toward him!
He knows what it is and won't do it, and that makes him wretched as it ought, thank God!" "You're a nice Christian. Thanking God for making a man miserable. Well." "Yes," answered Dawtie. George thought a little. "What would you have me persuade him to?" he asked, for he might hear something it would be useful to know. But Dawtie had no right and no inclination to tell him what she knew.
The brothers had not long to search before they came upon her, where she sat on the ground at the door of the turf-built cottage, feeding a chicken with oatmeal paste. "What are you doin', Dawtie?" they asked. "I'm tryin'," she answered, without looking up, "to haud the life i' the chuckie." "What's the matter wi' 't?" "Naething but the want o' a mither." "Is the mither o' 't deid?"
Little wrong as she had done, Dawtie was yet familiar with the lovely potency of confession to annihilate it. She knew it was the turning from wrong that killed it, that confession gave the coup de grace to offense. Still she dreaded not a little the displeasure of her master, and yet she dreaded more his distress.
You may have sent him into a hotter purgatory, and at the same time made it shorter for him. We know nothing but that God is righteous." Dawtie was comforted, and things went on as before. Where people know their work and do it, life has few blank spaces for ennui, and they are seldom to be pitied.
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