This is something of a commentary upon the truth that war breeds war,
that every battle sows the seeds of future battles, and that thus
nations become traditional enemies. The experience of American boys is
that of the Scotch. They grow up to read of Washington and Valley
Forge, of Hessians hired to kill Americans, and they come to hate the
very name of Englishman. Such was my experience with my American
nephews. Scotland was all right, but England that had fought Scotland
was the wicked partner. Not till they became men was the prejudice
eradicated, and even yet some of it may linger.

Uncle Lauder has told me since that he often brought people into the
room assuring them that he could make "Dod" (George Lauder) and me
weep, laugh, or close our little fists ready to fight--in short, play
upon all our moods through the influence of poetry and song. The
betrayal of Wallace was his trump card which never failed to cause our
little hearts to sob, a complete breakdown being the invariable
result. Often as he told the story it never lost its hold. No doubt it
received from time to time new embellishments. My uncle's stories
never wanted "the hat and the stick" which Scott gave his. How
wonderful is the influence of a hero upon children!

I spent many hours and evenings in the High Street with my uncle and
"Dod," and thus began a lifelong brotherly alliance between the latter
and myself. "Dod" and "Naig" we always were in the family. I could not
say "George" in infancy and he could not get more than "Naig" out of
Carnegie, and it has always been "Dod" and "Naig" with us. No other
names would mean anything.

There were two roads by which to return from my uncle's house in the
High Street to my home in Moodie Street at the foot of the town, one