From the opposite wall, when Morrison whirled on his heels, David looked
down. David's eyes had little, softening scrolls at the corners of them;
the artist had painted from life, in the case of David, and had caught the
glint of humor in the eyes. The picture of Angus had been enlarged from a
daguerreotype and seemed to lack some of the truly human qualities of
expression. But it was a strong face, the face of a pioneer who had come
into a strange land to make his way and to smooth that way for the
children who were to have life made easier for them. "Tak' it! Wi' all the
strength o' ye, reach oot and tak' it for yer ainsel' else ithers will
gr-rasp ahead and snigger at ye!" So said Angus from the wall, whenever
Stewart pondered on problems.
But David, though the pictured countenance was resolute enough, always put
in a shrewd and cautionary amendment, whenever Stewart came down the room,
stiffened by the counsel of Angus, "Mind ye, laddie, when ye tak', that
the mon wha tak's slidd'ry serpents to tussle wi' 'em, he haes nae hand to
use for his ainsel' whilst the slickit beasties are alive; and a deid
snake serves nae guid."
That evening Stewart was distinctly getting no help from either Angus or
David.
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