"And go to heaven, sir, to the face o' God," said Annie, not sobbing, but with the tears streaming silently down her face.
"I don't know, Annie. I've been of no use; and I'm afraid God does not care much for me."
"If God loves you half as much as I do, sir, ye'll be well off in heaven. And I'm thinkin' he maun love ye mair nor me. For, ye see, sir, God's love itsel'."
"I don't know, Annie. But if ever I win there, which'll be more than I deserve, I'll tell him about you, and ask him to give you the help that I couldn't give you."
Love and Death make us all children.—Can Old Age be an evil thing, which does the same?
The old clergyman had thought himself a good Protestant at least, but even his Protestantism was in danger now. Happily Protestantism was nothing to him now. Nothing but God would do now.
Annie had no answer but what lay in her tears. He called his daughter, who stood weeping in the room. She came near.
"Bring my study Bible," he said to her feebly.
She went and brought it—a large quarto Bible.
"Here, Annie," said the dying man, "here's my Bible that I've made but ower little use o' mysel'. Promise me, if ever ye have a house o' your own, that ye'll read out o' that book every day at worship. I want you not to forget me, as, if all's well, I shall never forget you."