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'Tread t' owd devil under fooit, says we; 'think on t' blooid o' t' Lamb that weshes us thro' all sin. An' t' penitents would holla out: 'I can't, I can't: he's ower strang for me; I'm baan to smoor i' hell fires. But t' local were stranger nor t' devil for all that, an' first one an' then another on 'em would shout out: 'I'm saved; I've fun' Him, I've fun' the Lord! Then they'd git up an' walk out o' t' room that weak you could hae knocked 'em down wi' a feather.
"I got idees," he said darkly to the cigar, deepening our dread. He pocketed his cigar-cutter and spoke again. "We got to learn all the rotten little game first. See, F'rinstance, we got to get samples of all the blessed wines there are and learn 'em up. Stern, Smoor, Burgundy, all of 'em! She took Stern to-night and when she tasted it first you pulled a face, Susan, you did. I saw you.
Th' organ wur reet ony end up; an' they couldn't smoor th' sound. At last Dick gav in; an' he leant o'er th' front o' th' singin'-pew, wi' th' sweat runnin' down his face; an' he sheawted across to th' parson, 'Aw cannot stop it!
There's ower mony nesty imps o' boys, rinnin' an' cloddin' stanes at puir Jock, forby caa'in' him names. Syne he loses his temper wi' them an' then he micht do them an injury an' get himsel' intil the gaol. Na, na, when Jock sees the blue smoor o' Auld Reeky gaun up into the lift he'll turn an' gae hame." "Well, Jock," said Ralph, "it behooves me to see Mistress Winsome before I go.
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