"—Sae I'm wearing awa, Jean,
To the land o' the leal—
"Gin I ever get thither. Katie, here, hauds wi' purgatory, ye ken! where souls are burnt clean again—like baccy pipes—
"When Bazor-brigg is ower and past,
Every night and alle;
To Whinny Muir thou comest at last,
And God receive thy sawle.
"Gin hosen an' shoon thou gavest nane
Every night and alle;
The whins shall pike thee intil the bane,
And God receive thy sawle.
"Amen. There's mair things aboon, as well as below, than are dreamt o' in our philosophy. At least, where'er I go, I'll meet no long nose, nor short nose, nor snub nose patriots there; nor puir gowks stealing the deil's tools to do God's wark wi'. Out among the eternities an' the realities—it's no that dreary outlook, after a', to find truth an' fact—naught but truth an' fact—e'en beside the worm that dieth not, and the fire that is not quenched!"
"God forbid!" said Katie.
"God do whatsoever shall please Him, Katie—an' that's aye gude like
Himsel'. Shall no the Judge of all the earth do right—right—right?"
And murmuring that word of words to himself, over and over, more and more faintly, he turned slowly over, and seemed to slumber—
Some half hour passed before we tried to stir him. He was dead.
And the candles waned grey, and the great light streamed in through every crack and cranny, and the sun had risen on the Tenth of April. What would be done before the sun had set?