And they that here fear danger,
Do deserve their fear.”
“Ay, that’s what you ca’ poetry. I dinna understand a word o’ it, but I can mind that David said, he didna fear, even in the dead-mirk-dale; but it’s a far-back thought to King David, and when a mither 160 is angry at her bairn, she feels as if the Lord, too, was like to lose sight o’ her, and that earth and heaven are baith a’ wrang.”
“Well, then, Margot, when you feel as if the Lord was like to lose sight o’ you, then you canna lose sight o’ the Lord. Then, in the words of your Covenanters’ Psalms, you be to cry out: ‘How lang, O Lord! Will ye mind me nae mair? How long will ye hap yer face frae me?’ And then, Margot, you mind how the few verses of doubt and fear, end—‘the Lord he’s wrought a’ things neiborlie for me’. Now, Margot, I am not going to preach to you. Your own leal heart can do that. I will just say goodnight with one verse from that same dear old book o’ psalms—‘Let the words o’ my mouth, an’ the thought o’ my heart, be for pleasure in yer sight, O Lord, my strength, and my hame bringer.’ I leave blessing with you.”
“You werna as kind as you should hae been to the Domine, Mither. He tried to comfort you,” said Christine.
“That was in the way o’ his duty. What does he know, puir fellow! anent a mither’s love or sorrow?”
“I’m glad feyther hes wee Jamie for his comfort.”
“Ay, but Jamie doesna comfort me, in the place o’ Neil.”
“You hae me, Mither. Dinna forget Christine.”
“Would I do that? Never! Christine is worth 161 a’ the lads in Scotland. They marry—and forget.”