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Updated: September 25, 2025
After a moment's pause, dreading that the intended prayers might interfere with her project, she knocked yet again; but a second time her knock was overwhelmed in the gruff call of Thomas, sounding yet more peremptory than before. "Jean, come ben to worship." "Hoot, Thamas, hae patience, man. I canna come." "Jean, come ben to worship direckly." "I'm i' the mids' o' cleanin' the shune.
"Sin's sic an awfu' thing," he began; when the door opened, and in walked James Dow. His entrance did not interrupt Thomas, however. "Sin's sic an awfu' thing! And I hae sinned sae aften and sae lang, that maybe He'll be forced efter a' to sen' me to the bottomless pit." "Hoot, hoot, Thamas! dinna speyk sic awfu' things," said Dow. "They're dreadfu' to hearken till.
"There's mair vertues i' the Bible nor courage, Thamas," retorted James, holding the outer door open to throw the sentence in, and shutting it instantly to escape with the last word. Thomas, abandoned to his own resources, meditated long and painfully. But all he could arrive at was the resolution to have another talk with Mr Cupples.
"I care naething aboot it. But there's Thamas Crann jist eatin' his ain hert. It's a sin to lat sic a man live in sic distress." "'Deed is't. He's a gude man that. And he's been verra kin' to oor Annie, Mr Cupples,�-I'll do as ye say. Whan do ye want it?" "This verra nicht."
Thomas well knew his regard for animals, and had calculated upon it. "Luik at the puir thing wi' its bonny reid een closed for ever! "Hoot, hoot, Thamas, man! Isna that bein' richteous overmuch, as oor minister wad say?" The question came in the husky voice of Peter Whaup, the blacksmith, who was now discovered leaning in over the half-door of the shop.
"Perfect love casteth oot fear, 'cause there's nae room for the twa o' them; and I daursay it wad be the same wi' the temper." "But I'm no gaein' to gie in to bein' ill-natert for a' that," said Thomas, as if alarmed at the possible consequences of the conclusion. "Na na. Resist ye the deevil, Thamas. Haud at him, man. He's sure to rin at the lang last.
I haena muckle upo' my han's jist the day. Ye see I haena won richt into my wark again yet." "Annie an' me 's jist been haeing a crack thegither aboot this thing an' that thing, Thamas," said Tibbie, dropping her knitting on her knees, and folding her palms together.
Towards morning he had found himself in the town again, and, crossing the Glamour, had wandered up the side of the water, and so come upon the sleepless miller contemplating his mill in the embrace of the torrent. "Ye maun alloo it's hard, Thamas," said the miller. "Hard?" retorted Thomas with indignation. "Hoo daur ye say sic a thing!
The voice of the reader was heard in the chamber of death. "The minister's come, Thamas." "Come or gang," said Thomas, "it's muckle the same. The word itsel' oot o' his mou' fa's as deid as chaff upo' clay. Honest Jeames there'll rise ance mair; but never a word that man says, wi' the croon o' 's heid i' the how o' 's neck, 'll rise to beir witness o' his ministrations." "Hoot, Thamas!
While her husband lay upon his deathbed, he called her to his bedside, and, taking her hand within his, he groaned, gazed on her face, and said, "Now, Janet, I'm gaun a lang and a dark journey; but ye winna forget, Janet ye winna forget for ye ken it has aye been uppermost in my thoughts and first in my desires, to mak Thamas a minister; promise me that ae thing, Janet, that, if it be HIS will, ye will see it performed, an' I will die in peace."
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