The minister, with the agility which unbounded wrath gave him, caught the boy' and swung his cane.
'I am going to thrash you,' said he.
'Ay, ye maun do that.' The small face was drawn to the aspect of a grave judge--'ye maun do that; it's yer juty.' The minister, who had looked upon his intention rather in the light of natural impulse, felt the less inclination for the task.

'Are you not afraid of being beaten ?' he asked.
'Aweel'-- an air of profound reflection--'I'm thinking I can even it ony day wi' ridin' on a coo's back when she'll rin like yon.' The sunlight of habitual benevolence began to break through the cloud of wrath upon the good minister's face.

'If I let you off, laddie, what will you do for me in return ?' An answering gleam of generosity broke upon the sage face of the child.
'I'll fair teach ye how to dae't ye'sel'.' The lad grew apace.

The neighbours said that he showed 'a caring' for his mother, but no one held toward him a helping hand.

They were so sure that no good could come of him or of her.