"It's a bonnie word, an' yir mither wes a sanct; but it's no for the like o' me. It's ower gude; a' daurna tak it. "Shut the buik an' let it open itsel, an' ye 'ill get a bit a've been readin' every nicht the laist month." Then Drumsheugh found the Parable wherein the Master tells us what God thinks of a Pharisee and of a penitent sinner, till he came to the words: "And the publican, standing afar off, would not lift up so much as his eyes to heaven, but smote upon his breast, saying, God be merciful to me a sinner." "That micht hae been written for me, Paitrick, or ony ither auld sinner that hes feenished his life, an' hes naethin' tae say for himsel'. "It wesna easy for me tae get tae kirk, but a' cud hae managed wi' a stretch, an' a' used langidge a' sudna, an' a' micht hae been gentler, and no been so short in the temper. A' see't a' noo. "It's ower late tae mend, but ye 'ill maybe juist say to the fouk that I wes sorry, an' a'm houpin' that the Almichty 'ill hae mercy on me. "Cud ye ... pit up a bit prayer, Paitrick?" "A' haena the words," said Drumsheugh in great distress; "wud ye like's tae send for the minister?" "It's no the time for that noo, an' a' wud rather hae yersel'--juist what's in yir heart, Paitrick: the Almichty 'ill ken the lave (rest) Himsel'." So Drumsheugh knelt and prayed with many pauses. "Almichty God ... dinna be hard on Weelum MacLure, for he's no been hard wi' onybody in Drumtochty.... Be kind tae him as he's been tae us a' for forty year.... We're a' sinners afore Thee.... Forgive him what he's dune wrang, an' dinna cuist it up tae him.... Mind the fouk he's helpit ... the weemen an' bairnies ... an' gie him a welcome name, for he's sair needin't after a' his wark.... Amen." "Thank ye, Paitrick, and gude nicht tae ye. Ma ain true freend, gie's yir hand, for a'll maybe no ken ye again. "Noo a'll say ma mither's prayer and hae a sleep, but ye 'ill no leave me till a' is ower." Then he repeated as he had done every night of his life: "This night I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, And if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take." He was sleeping quietly when the wind drove the snow against the window with a sudden "swish ;" and he instantly awoke, so to say, in his sleep. Some one needed him. "Are ye frae Glen Urtach?" and an unheard voice seemed to have answered him. "Worse is she, an' sufferin' awfu'; that's no lichtsome; ye did richt tae come. "The front door's drifted up; gang roond tae the back, an' ye 'ill get intae the kitchen; a'll be ready in a meenut. "Gie's a hand wi' the lantern when a'm saidling Jess, an' ye needna come on till daylicht; a' ken the road." Then he was away in his sleep on some errand of mercy, and struggling through the storm. "It's a coorse nicht, Jess, an' heavy traivellin'; can ye see afore ye, lass? for a'm clean confused wi' the snaw; bide a wee till a' find the diveesion o' the roads; it's aboot here back or forrit.