“Ay, but I’m no meanin’ ’t jist as ye du. I had the haill thing throu’ my heid last nicht, an’ I canna but think there’s something wrang wi’ a man gien he canna hear the word o’ God as weel i’ the mids o’ a multitude no man can number, a’ made ilk ane i’ the image o’ the Father--as weel, I say, as i’ the hert o’ win’ an’ watter an’ the lift an’ the starns an’ a’. Ye canna say ’at thae things are a’ made i’ the image o’ God, in the same w’y, at least, ’at ye can say ’t o’ the body an’ face o’ a man, for throu’ them the God o’ the whole earth revealed Himsel’ in Christ.” “Ow, weel, I wad alloo what ye say, gien they war a’ to be considered Christi-ans.” “Ow, I grant we canna weel du that i’ the full sense, but I doobt, gien they bena a’ Christi-ans ’at ca’s themsels that, there’s a heap mair Christi-anity nor gets the credit o’ its ain name. I min’ weel hoo Maister Graham said to me ance ’at hoo there was something o’ Him ’at made him, luikin’ oot o’ the een o’ ilka man ’at he had made; an’ what wad ye ca’ that but a scart or a straik o’ Christi-anity.” “Weel, I kenna; but ony gait I canna think it can be again’ the trowth o’ the gospel to wuss yersel’ mair alane wi’ yer God nor ye ever can be in sic an awfu’ Babylon o’ a place as this.” “Na, na, Peter; I’m no sayin’ that. I ken weel we’re to gang intill the closet and shut to the door. I’m only afeart ’at there be something wrang in mysel’ ’at taks ’t ill to be amon’ sae mony neibors. I’m thinkin’ ’at, gien a’ was richt ’ithin me, gien I lo’ed my neibor as the Lord wad hae them ’at lo’ed Him lo’e ilk ane his brither, I micht be better able to pray amang them--ay, i’ the verra face o’ the bargainin’ an’ leein’ a’ aboot me.” “An’ min’ ye,” said Peter, pursuing the train of his own thoughts, and heedless of Malcolm’s, “’at oor Lord himsel’ bude whiles to win awa’, even frae his dissiples, to be him-lane wi’ the Father o’ ’im.” “Ay, ye’re richt there, Peter,” answered Malcolm, “but there’s ae p’int in ’t ye maunna forget--and that is ’at it was never i’ the day-time--sae far ’s I min’--’at he did sae. The lee-lang day he was among ’s fowk--workin’ his michty wark. Whan the nicht cam, in which no man could wark, he gaed hame till ’s Father, as ’t war. Eh me! but it’s weel to ha’e a man like the schuilmaister to put trowth intill ye. I kenna what comes o’ them ’at ha’e drucken maisters, or sic as cares for naething but coontin’ an Laitin, an’ the likes o’ that!” CHAPTER XIV. FLORIMEL.