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Updated: June 21, 2025
The schoolmaster thought for a few minutes, and then said, "I'll give you one of my own, if you like, Malcolm. I made it some twenty or thirty years ago." Frae the hert o' the warl', wi' a swirl an' a sway, An' a Rin, burnie, rin, That water lap clear frae the dark till the day, An' singin' awa' did spin, Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin.
"Weel, mem, I wad jist like to speir what waur it is to fancy yersel' a burn, than to fancy the burn a body, ae time singin' an' chatterin', an' the neist growlin' an' grum'lin'." "Well, but, Donal, can a man be a burn?" "Weel, mem, no at least no i' this warl', an' at 'is ain wull. But whan ye're lyin' hearkenin' to the burn, did ye never imagine yersel' rinnin' doon wi' 't doon to the sea?"
"Curly!" said Annie, and said no more, for she felt as if her heart would break. "I likit ye at the schule, Annie; but noo there's naething i' the warl but you." Annie rose gently, came close to him, and laying a hand on his arm, said, "I'm richt sorry for ye, Curly." He half turned his back, was silent for a moment, and then said coldly, but in a trembling voice,
"It said to me that I was a foolish man to care aboot the claiks and the strifes o' the warl'; for a' was quaiet aboon, whatever stramash they micht be makin' doon here i' the cellars o' the speeritual creation." Annie was silent: while she did not quite understand him, she had a dim perception of a grand meaning in what he said.
"I s' tell her mysel'," returned Malcolm. "But, gentlemen, I beg o' ye, till I ken what I 'm aboot an' gie ye leave, dinna open yer moo' to leevin' cratur' aboot this. There's time eneuch for the warl' to ken 't." "Your lordship commands me," said Mr Soutar. "Yes, Malcolm, until you give me leave," said Mr Graham. "Whaur 's Mr Morrison?" asked Malcolm. "He is still in the house," said Mr Soutar.
The wrang dune may hae caused mair evil, that is, mair injustice, nor the man himsel kens! And what's the reputation ye speak o', or what's the eesefu'ness o' sic a man? Can it be worth onything? Isna his hoose a lee? isna it biggit upo the san'? What kin' o' a usefulness can that be that has hypocrisy for its fundation? Awa wi' 't! Lat him cry oot to a' the warl', 'I'm a heepocrit!
H'aven to him's sic a rale place, and sic a hantle better nor this warl', 'at he wad not only fain be there himsel, but wad hae Phemy there ay, gie it war ever sae lang afore himsel! Ye see he kens naething aboot sin and the saicrifeece, and he disna un'erstan 'at Phemy was aye a gey wull kin' o' a lassie!
'No, that's true eneuch! What for wad ye want to gang fechtin? 'To shaw the warl' I'm nane o' what my mither ca'd me. 'And shawn that, hoo muckle the better man wud ye be for 't? Min' ye it's ae thing to be, and anither to shaw. Be ye maun; shaw ye needna. 'I dinna ken; I micht be growin better a' the time! 'And ye micht be growin waur. What the better wud ony neebour be for ye gane fechtin?
Ye tak it as gien there was shame intil 't! An' gien there wasna shame, I daur ye to priv there can be ony disgrace! Gien ye come to that wi' 't, hoo was the Lord o' a' himself supportit whan he gaed aboot cleanin' oot the warl'? Wasna it the women 'at gaed wi' 'im 'at providit a' thing?" "True; but that was very different!
Then Thomas and George sat down, opposite to each other, on two neighbouring tombstones, and wiping their brows, gave each a sigh of relief, for the sun was hot and oppressive. "Hech! it's a weary warl," said George. "Ye hae no richt to say sae, George," answered Thomas, "for ye hae never met it, an' foughten wi' 't. Ye hae never draan the soord o' the Lord and o' Gideon.
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