"Then it MUST be dangerous! It shows that they were not meant to work!"
"They were meant to work if I can make them work."
"Then you approve of slavery!" said Mercy She hardly knew what made her oppose him. As yet she had no opinions of her own, though she did catch a thought sometimes, when it happened to come within her reach. Alister smiled a curious smile.
"I should," he said, "if the right people were made slaves of. I would take shares in a company of Algerine pirates to rid the social world of certain types of the human!"
The girls looked at each other. "Sharp!" said Christina to herself.
"What sorts would you have them take?" she asked.
"Idle men in particular," answered Alister.
"Would you not have them take idle ladies as well?"
"I would see first how they behaved when the men were gone."
"You believe, then," said Mercy, "we have a right to make the lower animals work?"
"I think it is our duty," answered Alister. "At all events, if we do not, we must either kill them off by degrees, or cede them this world, and emigrate. But even that would be a bad thing for my little bulls there! It is not so many years since the last wolf was killed—here, close by! and if the dogs turned to wolves again, where would they be? The domestic animals would then have wild beasts instead of men for their masters! To have the world a habitable one, man must rule."
"Men are nothing but tyrants to them!" said Christina.
"Most are, I admit."
Ere he could prevent her, she had walked up to the near bull, and begun to pat him. He poked a sharp wicked horn sideways at her, catching her cloak on it, and grazing her arm. She started back very white. Alister gave him a terrible tug. The beast shook his head, and began to paw the earth.
"It wont do to go near him," he said. "—But you needn't be afraid; he can't touch you. That iron band round his nose has spikes in it."
"Poor fellow!" said Christina; "it is no wonder he should be out of temper! It must hurt him dreadfully!"
"It does hurt him when he pulls against it, but not when he is quiet."
"I call it cruel!"
"I do not. The fellow knows what is wanted of him—just as well as any naughty child."
"How can he when he has no reason!"
"Oh, hasn't he!"
"Animals have no reason; they have only instinct!"
"They have plenty of reason—more than many men and women. They are not so far off us as pride makes most people think! It is only those that don't know them that talk about the instinct of animals!"
"Do you know them?"
"Pretty well for a man; but they're often too much for me."
"Anyhow that poor thing does not know better."
"He knows enough; and if he did not, would you allow him to do as he pleased because he didn't know better? He wanted to put his horn into you a moment ago!"
"Still it must be hard to want very much to do a thing, and not be able to do it!" said Mercy.
"I used to feel as if I could tear my old nurse to pieces when she wouldn't let me do as I wanted!" said Christina.
"I suppose you do whatever you please now, ladies?"
"No, indeed. We wanted to go to London, and here we are for the winter!"
"And you think it hard?"
"Yes, we do."
"And so, from sympathy, you side with my cattle?"
"Well—yes!"
"You think I have no right to keep them captive, and make them work?"
"None at all," said Christina.
"Then it is time I let them go!"
Alister made for the animals' heads.
"No, no! please don't!" cried both the girls, turning, the one white, the other red.
"Certainly not if you do not wish it!" answered Alister, staying his step. "If I did, however, you would be quite safe, for they would not come near me. They would be off up that hill as hard as they could tear, jumping everything that came in their way."
"Is it not very dull here in the winter?" asked Christina, panting a little, but trying to look as if she had known quite well he was only joking.
"I do not find it dull."
"Ah, but you are a man, and can do as you please!"
"I never could do as I pleased, and so I please as I do," answered Alister.
"I do not quite understand you."
"When you cannot do as you like, the best thing is to like what you have to do. One's own way is not to be had in this world. There's a better, though, which is to be had!"
"I have heard a parson talk like that," said Mercy, "but never a layman!"
"My father was a parson as good as any layman. He would have laid me on my back in a moment—here as I stand!" said Alister, drawing himself to his height.
He broke suddenly into Gaelic, addressing the more troublesome of the bulls. No better pleased to stand still than to go on, he had fallen to digging at his neighbour, who retorted with the horn convenient, and presently there was a great mixing of bull and harness and cloddy earth. Turning quickly towards them, Alister dropped a rein. In a moment the plough was out of the furrow, and the bulls were straining every muscle, each to send the other into the wilds of the unseen creation. Alister sprang to their heads, and taking them by their noses forced them back into the line of the furrow. Christina, thinking they had broken loose, fled; but there was Mercy with the reins, hauling with all her might!
"Thank you, thank you!" said the laird, laughing with pleasure. "You are a friend indeed!"
"Mercy! Mercy! come away directly," cried Christina.
But Mercy did not heed her. The laird took the reins, and administering a blow each to the animals, made them stand still.
There are tender-hearted people who virtually object to the whole scheme of creation; they would neither have force used nor pain suffered; they talk as if kindness could do everything, even where it is not felt. Millions of human beings but for suffering would never develop an atom of affection. The man who would spare DUE suffering is not wise. It is folly to conclude a thing ought not to be done because it hurts. There are powers to be born, creations to be perfected, sinners to be redeemed, through the ministry of pain, that could be born, perfected, redeemed, in no other way. But Christina was neither wise nor unwise after such fashion. She was annoyed at finding the laird not easily to be brought to her feet, and Mercy already advanced to his good graces. She was not jealous of Mercy, for was she not beautiful and Mercy plain? but Mercy had by her PLUCK secured an advantage, and the handsome ploughman looked at her admiringly! Partly therefore because she was not pleased with him, partly that she thought a little outcry would be telling,—
"Oh, you wicked man!" she cried, "you are hurting the poor brutes!"
"No more than is necessary," he answered.
"You are cruel!"
"Good morning, ladies."
He just managed to take off his bonnet, for the four-legged explosions at the end of his plough were pulling madly. He slackened his reins, and away it went, like a sharp knife through a Dutch cheese.
"You've made him quite cross!" said Mercy.
"What