Part 27 (2/2)
And sae, do you ken hoo it was the German officers reasoned?
”There is something wrong with our information,” they decided. ”If things were really, over there, as we have believed, those men would be quitting now. They may be making a trap ready for us. We will stop and make sure. It is better to be safe than sorry.”
Sae, because the human spirit and its invincibility was a thing beyond their comprehension, the German officers lost the chance they had to win the war.
And it is because of that spirit that remains, that survives, in the world, that I am so sure we can mak' it a world worthy of those who died to save it. I would no want to live anither day myself if I didna believe that. I would want to dee, that I micht see my boy again. But there is work for us all tae do that are left and we have no richt to want, even, to lay doon our burdens until the time comes when G.o.d wills that we maun.
Noo--what are the things we ha' tae do? They are no just to talk, you'll be saying. 'Deed, and you're richt!
Wull you let me touch again on a thing I've spoken of already?
We ken the way the world's been impoverished. We've seen tae many of our best laddies dee these last years. They were the husbands the wee la.s.sies were waiting for--the faithers of bairns that will never be born the noo. Are those that are left doing a' that they should to mak' up that loss?
There's selfishness amang those who'll no ha' the weans they should.
And it's a selfishness that brings its ain punishment--be sure of that. I've said before, and I'll say again, the childless married pair are traitors to their country, to the world, to humanity. Is it that folk wi' children find it harder to live? Weel, there's truth i' that, and it's for us a' tae see that that shall no be so.
I ken there are things that discourage them that would bring up a family o' bairns. Landlords wull ask if there are bairns, and if there are they'll seek anither tenant. It's no richt. The law maun step in and reach them. Oh, I mind a story I heard frae a friend o' mine on that score.
He's a decent body, wi' six o' the finest weans e'er you saw. He'd to find a bigger hoose, and he went a' aboot, and everywhere, when he told the landlords he had six bairns, they'd no have him. Else they'd put up the rent to sic a figure he couldna pay it. In the end, though, he hit upon a plan. Ane day he went tae see an agent aboot a hoose that was just the yin to suit him. He liked it fine; the agent saw he was a solid man, and like tae be a gude tenant. Sae they were well along when the inevitable question came.
”How many children have you?” asked the agent.
”Six,” said my friend.
”Oh,” said the agent. ”Well--let's see! Six is a great many. My princ.i.p.al is a little afraid of a family with so many children. They damage the houses a good deal, you know. I'll have to see. I'm sorry.
I'd have liked to let the house to you. H'm! Are all the children at home?” ”No,” said my friend, and pulled a lang face. ”They're a' in the kirkyard.”
”Oh--but that's very different,” said the agent, growing brichter at once. ”That's a very different case. You've my most sincere sympathy.
And I'll be glad to let you the house.”
Sae the lease was signed. And my friend went hame, rejoicing. On the way he stopped at the kirkyard, and called the bairns, whom he'd left there to play as he went by!
But this is a serious matter, this one o' bairns. Folk must have them, or the country will gae to ruin. And it maun be made possible for people to bring up their weans wi'oot sae much trouble and difficulty as there is for them the noo.
Profiteering we canna endure--and will'na, I'm telling you. Let the profiteer talk o' vested richts and interests--or whine o' them, since he whines mair than he talks. It was tae muckle talk o' that sort we were hearing before the war and in its early days. It was one of the things that was wrang wi' the world. Is there any richt i' the world that's as precious as that tae life and liberty and love? And didna our young men gie that up at the first word?
Then dinna let your profiteer talk to me of the richts of his money.
He has duties and obligations as well as richts, and when he's lived up to a' o' them, it'll be time for him tae talk o' his richts again, and we'll maybe be in a mood tae listen. It's the same wi' the workingman. We maun produce, i' this day. We maun mak' up for a' the waste and the loss o' these last years. And the workingman kens as weel as do I that after a fire the first thing a man does is tae mak'
the hoose habitable again.
He mends the roof. He patches the holes i' the walls. Wad he be painting the veranda before he did those things? Not unless he was a fule--no, nor building a new bay window for the parlor. Sae let us a'
be thinking of what's necessary before we come to thought of luxuries.
CHAPTER XXVIII
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