"Gin Mr Bruce war to cast it up till me, he wad say: 'Lat alane the lassie. She'll think aboot me the morn--time eneuch.'" "Well, don't you think your Father in heaven would say the same?" "Maybe he micht, sir. But ye see my father was my ain father, and wad mak' the best o' me." "And is not God kinder than your father?" "He canna weel be that, sir. And there's the Scripter!" "But he sent his only Son to die for us." "Ay--for the eleck, sir," returned the little theologian. Now this was more than Mr Cowie was well prepared to meet, for certainly this terrible doctrine was perfectly developed in the creed of the Scotch Church; the assembly of divines having sat upon the Scripture egg till they had hatched it in their own likeness. Poor Mr Cowie! There were the girl-eyes, blue, and hazy with tearful questions, looking up at him hungrily.--O starving little brothers and sisters! God does love you, and all shall be, and therefore is, well.--But the minister could not say this, gladly as he would have said it if he could; and the only result of his efforts to find a suitable reply was that he lost his temper--not with Annie, but with the doctrine of election. "Gang ye hame, Annie, my bairn," said he, talking Scotch now, "and dinna trouble yer heid about election, and a' that. It's no' a canny doctrine. No mortal man could ever win at the boddom o' 't. I'm thinkin' we haena muckle to do w' 't. Gang hame, dawtie, and say yer prayers to be preserved frae the wiles o' Sawtan. There 's a sixpence to ye." His kind heart was sorely grieved that all it could give was money. She had asked for bread, and he had but a stone, as he thought, to give her. So he gave it her with shame. He might however have reversed the words of St Peter, saying, "Spiritual aid I have none, but such as I have give I thee;" and so offered her the sixpence. But, for my part, I think the sixpence had more of bread in it than any theology he might have been expected to have at hand; for, so given, it was the symbol and the sign of love, which is the heart of the divine theology. Annie, however, had a certain Scotchness in her which made her draw back from the offer. "Na, thank ye, sir," she said; "I dinna want it." "Will ye no tak' it to please an auld man, bairn?" "Deed will I, sir, I wad do a hantle mair nor that to please you." And again the tears filled her blue eyes as she held out her hand--receiving in it a shilling which Mr Cowie, for more relief to his own burdened heart, had substituted for the sixpence. "It's a shillin', sir!" she said, looking up at him with the coin lying on her open palm. "Weel, what for no? Is a shillin' no a saxpence?" "Ay, sir. It's twa." "Weel, Annie," said the old man, suddenly elevated into prophecy for the child's need--for he had premeditated nothing of the sort--"maybe whan God offers us a saxpence, it may turn oot to be twa. Good nicht, my bairn."