“He was never cobbler himsel’, but he was ance carpenter; an’ noo he’s liftit up to be heid o’ a’ the trades. An’ there’s ae thing he canna bide, an’ that’s close parin’.”
He stopped. But Donal held his peace, waiting; and he went on.
“To them ’at maks little, for rizzons guid, by their neebour, he gies the better wauges whan they gang hame. To them ’at maks a’ ’at they can, he says, ‘Ye helpit yersel’; help awa’; ye hae yer reward. Only comena near me, for I canna bide ye.’—But aboot thae shune o’ yours, I dinna weel ken! They’re weel eneuch worth duin’ the best I can for them; but the morn’s Sunday, an’ what hae ye to put on?”
“Naething—till my kist comes; an’ that, I doobt, winna be afore Monday, or maybe the day efter.”
“An’ ye winna be able to gang to the kirk!”
“I’m no partic’lar aboot gaein’ to the kirk; but gien I wantit to gang, or gien I thoucht I was b’un’ to gang, think ye I wad bide at hame ’cause I hadna shune to gang in! Wad I fancy the Lord affrontit wi’ the bare feet he made himsel’!”
The cobbler caught up the worst shoe and began upon it at once.
“Ye s’ hae ’t, sir,” he said, “gien I sit a’ nicht at it! The ane ’ll du till Monday. Ye s’ hae ’t afore kirk-time, but ye maun come intil the hoose to get it, for the fowk wud be scunnert to see me warkin’ upo’ the Sabbath-day. They dinna un’erstan’ ’at the Maister warks Sunday an’ Setterday—an’ his Father as weel!”
“Ye dinna think, than, there’s onything wrang in men’in’ a pair o’ shune on the Sabbath-day?”
“Wrang!—in obeyin’ my Maister, whase is the day, as weel ’s a’ the days? They wad fain tak it frae the Son o’ Man, wha’s the lord o’ ’t, but they canna!”