On the appointed morning,
the tide was low, and the waves died gently upon the sand, seeming
to have crept away from the shore to get nearer to the sunrise.
Duncan was walking along the hard wet sand towards the promontory,
with Mr Graham on one side of him and Malcolm on the other. There
was no gun to fire this morning; it was Sunday, and all might
repose undisturbed: the longer sleep in bed, possibly the shorter
in church.
"I wish you had your sight but for a moment, Mr MacPhail," said
the schoolmaster. "How this sunrise would make you leap for joy."
"Ay!" said Malcolm, "it wad gar daddy grip till 's pipes in twa
hurries."
"And what should she'll pe wanting her pipes for?" asked Duncan.
"To praise God wi'," answered Malcolm.
"Ay; ay;" murmured Duncan thoughtfully. "Tey are tat."
"What are they?" asked Mr Graham gently.
"For to praise Cod," answered Duncan solemnly.
"I almost envy you," returned Mr Graham, "when I think how you will
praise God one day. What a glorious waking you will have!"
"Ten it 'll pe your opinion, Mr Craham, tat she'll pe sleeping her
sound sleep, and not pe lying wite awake in her coffin all ta time?"
"A good deal better than that, Mr MacPhail!" returned the schoolmaster
cheerily. "It's my opinion that you are, as it were, asleep now,
and that the moment you die, you will feel as if you had just woke
up, and for the first time in your life. For one thing, you will
see far better then than any of us do now.
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