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Thomas resumed: "He jist wants what ye want, Gleorge Macwha." "What's that, Thamas?" asked George, with a grim attempt at a smile, as if to say: "I know what's coming, but I'm not going to mind it." "He jist wants to be weel shaken ower the mou' o' the pit. He maun smell the brunstane o' the everlastin' burnin's.
I'm gaein hame wi' ye, bairn. Jean, my shune!" "Hoot, Thamas! I've jist cleaned them," screeched Jean from the kitchen at the second call. "Fess them here direckly. It's a jeedgment on ye for sayin' worship cud bide better nor the shune." Janet brought them and put them down sulkily.
"Mind ye yer immortal pairt, George," said Thomas with a final thrust, as he likewise rose to go home with him on the box of the hearse. "Gin the Lord tak's sic guid care o' the body, Thamas," retorted Macwha, with less of irreverence than appeared in his words, "maybe he winna objec' to gie a look to my puir soul as weel; for they say it's worth a hantle mair.
"Ow, 'deed ay! And I'm no my lane, Thamas. But we are tellt that." "The serpent turned oot an ill cooncellor upon ae occasion ower well to be remembert by Adam's race." "The words stan' as I say," persisted James. "Ye're no to mak' the serpent yer cooncellor, man. But ance ye ken yer duty, ye may weel tak example by him hoo to carry 't oot.
"It's a sod pity, George," he was saying as he entered, "that a man like you wadna, ance for a', tak thoucht a bit, and consider the en' o' a' thing that the sun shines upo'." "Hoo do ye ken, Thamas, that I dinna tak thoucht?" "Will ye say 'at ye div tak thoucht, George?"
"And I'm some doobtfu' forbye, whether I mayna be tryin' to ripe oot the stockin' frae the wrang en' o' 't. I doobt the fau't's nae sae muckle i' my temper as i' my hert. It's mair love that I want, Tibbie. Gin I lo'ed my neebor as mysel', I cudna be sae ill-natert till him; though 'deed, whiles, I'm angry eneuch at mysel' a hantle waur nor at him." "Verra true, Thamas," answered Tibbie.
I teuk and throosh them baith." "An' what cam' o' the image o' the Almichty?" asked Tibbie, with a grotesque contortion of her mouth, and a roll of her veiled eyeballs. "I doobt, Thamas," she continued, "ye angert yersel' mair nor ye quaietit them wi' the thrashin'. The wrath o' man, ye ken, Thamas, worketh not the richtyisness o' God."
And they'll baith stan' efter you an' me's laid i' the mouls. It's weel kent forbye that ye hae a bit siller i' the bank, and I hae none." "Not a bawbee hae I, George. I can pray for my daily breid wi' an honest hert; for gin the Lord dinna sen' 't, I hae nae bank to fa' back upo'." "I'm sorry to hear 't, Thamas," said George.
And for Alec I hae great houpes. He comes o' a guid stock. His father, honest man, was ane o' the Lord's ain, although he didna mak' sic a stan' as, maybe, he ought to hae dune; and gin his mither has been jist raither saft wi' him, and gi'en him ower lang a tether, he'll come a' richt afore lang, for he's worth luikin efter." "I dinna richtly unnerstan' ye, Thamas."
"And wha's your minister, Peter, my man?" retorted Thomas, with some acrimony. "Mr Cooie, as ye weel ken, Thamas." "I thoucht as muckle. The doctrine savours o' the man, Peter. There's no fear o' him or ony o' his followers bein' richteous over-much." "Weel, ye ken, that's naething but a rabbit i' yer han'. It wad hae been worried some day. Hoo cam' 't by 'ts deith?" "I didna mean to kill't.
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