“Oh Domine! If you feel that your love is slighted—that the bairn you love mair than yoursel’ lightlies ye; if you feel that he’s ’shamed o’ you!” And Margot covered her face, and her words were lost in heart-breaking sobs.
“Margot, you must cease weeping. Will it do you any good to kill yourself? What will you say to your Maker in such case?”
“I willna be feared to say all that is in my heart to Him. He knows a mither’s heart, and the griefs it tholes and carries. I canna expect you to know how love feels when it is scorned, and made little o’.”
“I know something of that same sorrow, Margot. I gave the love of my life to one who scorned it. Only God knew my sorrow, but He was sufficient for my comfort. There is only one way of conquering wrongs against love, Margot.”
Margot did not speak, and after a moment’s pause, he asked, “Do you want to know that way?”
“No, Sir. If it is your way, I’m no able to follow it.”
“Suppose you try. You think your youngest son has treated you badly?”
“Ay, I’m sure o’ it, and he’s treated his feyther and his brothers badly, and his one sister worse than 156 a’. How can folk forget injuries that tread love under feet? They canna do it.”
“They can. Do you want to know how? Do you want to know how I did it?”
“I couldna walk in your shoon, Sir. They’re o’er big for me.”