"
Donal rang the handbell. A shout mingled with the clang of it.
Then came the running of swift feet over the stones of the court,
and Davie burst into the room.
"Oh, sir," he cried, "I am glad! It is good of you to come!"
"Well, you see, Davie," returned Donal, "everybody has got to do
something to carry the world on a bit: my work is to help make a man
of you. Only I can't do much except you help me; and if I find I am
not making a good job of you, I shan't stop many hours after the
discovery. If you want to keep me, you must mind what I say, and so
help me to make a man of you."
"It will be long before I am a man!" said Davie rather
disconsolately.
"It depends on yourself. The boy that is longest in becoming a man,
is the boy that thinks himself a man before he is a bit like one."
"Come then, let us do something!" said Davie.
"Come away," rejoined Donal. "What shall we do first?"
"I don't know: you must tell me, sir."
"What would you like best to do--I mean if you might do what you
pleased?"
Davie thought a little, then said:
"I should like to write a book."
"What kind of a book?"
"A beautiful story."
"Isn't it just as well to read such a book? Why should you want to
write one?"
"Because then I should have it go just as I wanted it! I am
always--almost always--disappointed with the thing that comes next.
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