Little Scotch Granite

Burt and Johnnie Lee were delighted when their Scotch cousin came to live with them. He was little but very bright and full of fun. He could tell curious things about his home in Scotland and his voyage across the ocean. He was as far advanced in his studies as they were, and the first day he went to school they thought him remarkably good. He wasted no time in play when he should have been studying, and he advanced quickly.

At night, before the close of the school, the teacher called the roll, and the boys began to answer, “Ten.” The boys were to say ten [credits] if they had not whispered out of turn during the day. When Willie understood, he replied, “I have whispered.”

“More than once?” asked the teacher.

“Yes, sir,” answered Willie.

“As many as ten times?”

“Maybe I have,” faltered Willie.

“Then I shall mark you zero,” said the teacher, sternly; “and that is a great disgrace.”

“Why, I did not see you whisper once,” said Johnnie, that night after school.

“Well, I did,” said Willie, “I saw others doing it, and so I asked to borrow a book; then I lent a slate pencil and asked for a knife, and did several such things. I supposed it was permitted.”

“Oh, but we all do it,” said Burt, reddening. “There isn’t any sense in the old rule; and nobody could keep it; nobody does.”

“I will keep it, or else I will say I haven’t,” said Willie. “Do you suppose I would tell ten lies in one heap?”

“Oh, we don’t call them lies,” muttered Johnnie. “There wouldn’t be a credit among us at night if we were so strict.”

“What does that matter as long as you have told the truth?” asked Willie bravely.

In short time the boys all saw how it was with him. He studied hard, played when it was time to play; but, according to his account, he lost more credits than any of the rest. After some weeks, the boys answered “Nine” and “Eight” much more often than they used to. Yet, the schoolroom seemed to have grown quieter. Sometimes, when Willie Grant’s mark was even lower than usual, the teacher would smile peculiarly but said no more of it being a disgrace. Willie never preached at them or told tales; but somehow it made the boys ashamed of themselves, just seeing that this sturdy blue-eyed boy must tell the truth. It was putting the clean cloth by the half-soiled one, you see; they felt like cheats and storytellers. They stalked him all over, and loved him, and he was so firm about a promise they nicknamed him “Scotch Granite.”

Well, at the end of the term, Willie’s name was very low down on the credit list. When it was read, he had to work hard not to cry; he was very sensitive, and he had tried hard to be perfect. The very last thing that day was a speech by the teacher, who told of once seeing a man covered up in a cloak. He passed the teacher without a look, but the teacher found out the man was a general, a great hero.

“The signs of his rank were hidden, but the hero was there just the same,” said the teacher. “Now, boys, you will see what I mean when I give a little gold medal to the person among you most conscientiously perfect in his deportment. Who shall have it?”

“Little Scotch Granite!” shouted forty boys at once; for the child whose name was so “low” on the credit list had made truth noble in their eyes. “A poor man is better than a liar.”

“Remove from me the way of lying: and grant me Thy law graciously” (Psalm 119:29).

“I hate and abhor lying: but Thy law do I love” (Psalm 119:163).

“Set a watch, O LORD, before my mouth; keep the door of my lips” (Psalm 141:3).

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