They hae taen 't intill their heids, for
ae thing--an that's what Dilse's Bess lays on at--'at 'cause
they're fisher fowk, they hae a speecial mission to convert the
warl'."
"What foon' they that upo'?" asked Malcolm.
"Ow, what the Saviour said to Peter an' the lave o' them 'at was
fishers--to come to him, an' he would mak them fishers o' men."
"Ay, I see!--What for dinna ye bide at hame, you an' the lave o'
the douce anes?"
"There ye come upo' the thing 'at 's troublin' me. Are we 'at begude
it to brak it up? Or are we to stan' aside an' lat it a' gang to
dirt an' green bree? Or are we to bide wi' them, an warsle aboot
holy words till we tyne a' stamach for holy things?"
"Cud ye brak it up gien ye tried?" asked Malcolm.
"I doobt no. That's ane o' the considerations 'at hings some sair
upo' me: see what we hae dune!"
"What for dinna ye gang ower to Maister Graham, an' speir what he
thinks?"
"What for sud I gang till him? What's he but a fine moaral man? I
never h'ard 'at he had ony discernment o' the min' o' the speerit."
"That's what Dilse's Bess frae Clamrock wad say aboot yersel',
Peter."
"An' I doobt she wadna be far wrang."
"Ony gait, she kens nae mair aboot you nor ye ken aboot the maister.
Ca' ye a man wha cares for naething in h'aven or in earth but the
wull o' 's Creator--ca' ye sic a man no speeritual? Jist gang ye
till 'im, an' maybe he'll lat in a glent upo' ye 'at 'll astonish
ye."
"He's taen unco little enterest in onything 'at was gaein' on.
Pages:
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518