It was 1801, and Archie was seven, and beyond his years for curiosity and logic, when he brought the case up openly.

If judging were sinful and forbidden, how came papa to be a judge?
to have that sin for a trade?
to bear the name of it for a distinction?
"I can't see it," said the little Rabbi, and wagged his head.
Mrs.Weir abounded in commonplace replies.
"No, I cannae see it," reiterated Archie.

"And I'll tell you what, mamma, I don't think you and me's justifeed in staying with him." The woman awoke to remorse, she saw herself disloyal to her man, her sovereign and bread-winner, in whom (with what she had of worldliness) she took a certain subdued pride.

She expatiated in reply on my lord's honour and greatness; his useful services in this world of sorrow and wrong, and the place in which he stood, far above where babes and innocents could hope to see or criticise.

But she had builded too well--Archie had his answers pat: Were not babes and innocents the type of the kingdom of heaven?
Were not honour and greatness the badges of the world?
And at any rate, how about the mob that had once seethed about the carriage?
"It's all very fine," he concluded, "but in my opinion papa has no right to be it.