'At ever I sud hae ta'en steik in claith for
sic a deil's buckie! To ane 'at was a mither till 'im! The Lord
haud me ohn gane mad whan I think o' 't!"
"An' syne for Lizzy!--" began Mrs Catanach, prefacing fresh remark.
But at her name the mother flew into such a rage that, fearful of
scandal, seeing it was the Sabbath and they were on their way to
public worship, her companion would have exerted all her powers of
oiliest persuasion to appease her. But if there was one thing Mrs
Catanach did not understand it was the heart of a mother.
"Hoots, Mistress Findlay! Fowk 'll hear ye. Haud yer tongue, I beg.
She may dee i' the strae for me. I s' never put han' to the savin'
o' her, or her bairn aither," said the midwife, thinking thus to
pacify her.
Then, like the eruption following mere volcanic unrest, out brake
the sore hearted woman's wrath. And now at length the crustacean
was too much for the mollusk. She raved and scolded and abused Mrs
Catanach, till at last she was driven to that final resource--the
airs of an injured woman. She turned and walked back to the upper
town, while Mrs Findlay went on to take what share she might in
the worship of the congregation.
Mrs Mair had that evening gone once more to the Baillies' Barn in
her husband's absence; for the words of unbelief he had uttered
in the Job-like agony of his soul, had haunted the heart of his
spouse, until she too felt as if she could hardly believe in a God.
Few know what a poor thing their faith is till the trial comes.
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