"The serpent turned oot an ill cooncellor upon ae occasion ower well to be remembert by Adam's race."
"The words stan' as I say," persisted James.
"Ye're no to mak' the serpent yer cooncellor, man. But ance ye ken yer duty, ye may weel tak example by him hoo to carry 't oot. Did ye ever see an edder lyin' ower a stane as gin he was naething but a stick himsel', bidin' 's time? That's me, i' the Scriptur' sense. I'm only bidin' till I see hoo. A body maunna do ill that gude may come, though wow! it's a sair temptation whiles; neither maun a body neglec to do richt for fear that ill may follow."
"Ay, true that. But ye needna burn the hoose to rid the rottans. I doot ye'll get's a' into ower het water; and a body needna tak' the skin aff for the sake o' cleanliness. Jist tak ye tent (care, attention), Thamas, what ye're aboot."
Having thus persisted in opposing Thomas to a degree he had never dared before, James took his departure, pursued by the words:
"Tak ye care, Jeames, that in savin' the richt han' ye dinna send the haill body to hell. It was aye yer danger. I never got bauld coonsel frae ye yet."
"There's mair vertues i' the Bible nor courage, Thamas," retorted James, holding the outer door open to throw the sentence in, and shutting it instantly to escape with the last word.
Thomas, abandoned to his own resources, meditated long and painfully. But all he could arrive at was the resolution to have another talk with Mr Cupples. He might not be a Christian man, but he was an honest and trustworthy man, and might be able from his scholarship to give him some counsel. So he walked to Howglen the next day, and found him with Alec in the harvest-field. And Alec's reception of Thomas showed what a fine thing illness is for bringing people to their right minds.
Mr Cupples walked aside with Thomas, and they seated themselves on two golden sheaves at the foot of a stook.
"What ye said to me the ither day, sir," began Thomas, "has stucken fest i' my crap, ever sin' syne. We maun hae him oot."