Donal made haste to put them on, and felt dressed for the Sunday.
“Are ye gaein’ to the kirk the day, Anerew?” asked the old woman, adding, as she turned to their guest, “My man’s raither pecooliar aboot gaein’ to the kirk! Some days he’ll gang three times, an’ some days he winna gang ance!—He kens himsel’ what for!” she added with a smile, whose sweetness confessed that, whatever was the reason, it was to her the best in the world.
“Ay, I’m gaein’ the day: I want to gang wi’ oor new freen’,” he answered.
“I’ll tak him gien ye dinna care to gang,” rejoined his wife.
“Ow, I’ll gang!” he persisted. “It’ll gie ’s something to talk aboot, an’ sae ken ane anither better, an’ maybe come a bit nearer ane anither, an’ sae a bit nearer the maister. That’s what we’re here for—comin’ an’ gaein’.”
“As ye please, Anerew! What’s richt to you’s aye richt to me. O’ my ain sel’ I wad be doobtfu’ o’ sic a rizzon for gaein’ to the kirk—to get something to speyk aboot.”
“It’s a guid rizzon whaur ye haena a better,” he answered. “It’s aften I get at the kirk naething but what angers me—lees an’ lees again’ my Lord an’ my God. But whan there’s ane to talk it ower wi’, ane ’at has some care for God as weel ’s for himsel’, there’s some guid sure to come oot o’ ’t—some revelation o’ the real richteousness—no what fowk ’at gangs by the ministers ca’s richteousness.—Is yer shune comfortable to yer feet, sir?”
“Ay, that they are! an’ I thank ye: they’re full better nor new.”
“Weel, we winna hae worship this mornin’; whan ye gang to the kirk it’s like aitin’ mair nor’s guid for ye.”
“Hoots, Anerew! ye dinna think a body can hae ower muckle o’ the word!” said his wife, anxious as to the impression he might make on Donal.