“He’ll be back by the middle o’ the week, I hear them say.”
“Can you tell me anything about the people at the castle?” asked Donal.
“I could,” answered Andrew; “but some things is better f’un’ oot nor kenned aforehan’. Ilka place has its ain shape, an’ maist things has to hae some parin’ to gar them fit. That’s what I tell yoong Eppy—mony ’s the time!”
Here came a pause, and when Andrew spoke again, it seemed on a new line.
“Did it ever occur to ye, sir,” he said, “’at maybe deith micht be the first waukin’ to some fowk?”
“It has occurrt to me,” answered Donal; “but mony things come intil a body’s heid ’at he’s no able to think oot! They maun lie an’ bide their time.”
“Lat nane o’ the lovers o’ law an’ letter perswaud ye the Lord wadna hae ye think—though nane but him ’at obeys can think wi’ safety. We maun do first the thing ’at we ken, an’ syne we may think aboot the thing ’at we dinna ken. I fancy ’at whiles the Lord wadna say a thing jist no to stop fowk thinkin’ aboot it. He was aye at gettin’ them to mak use o’ the can’le o’ the Lord. It’s my belief the main obstacles to the growth o’ the kingdom are first the oonbelief o’ believers, an’ syne the w’y ’at they lay doon the law. Afore they hae learnt the rudimen’s o’ the trowth themsel’s, they begin to lay the grievous burden o’ their dullness an’ ill-conceived notions o’ holy things upo’ the min’s an’ consciences o’ their neebours, fain, ye wad think, to haud them frae growin’ ony mair nor themsel’s. Eh, man, but the Lord ’s won’erfu’! Ye may daur an’ daur, an’ no come i’ sicht o’ ’im!”
The church stood a little way out of the town, in a churchyard overgrown with grass, which the wind blew like a field of corn. Many of the stones were out of sight in it. The church, a relic of old catholic days, rose out of it like one that had taken to growing and so got the better of his ills. They walked into the musty, dingy, brown-atmosphered house. The cobbler led the way to a humble place behind a pillar; there Doory was seated waiting them. The service was not so dreary to Donal as usual; the sermon had some thought in it; and his heart was drawn to a man who would say he did not understand.
“Yon was a fine discoorse,” remarked the cobbler as they went homeward.
Donal saw nothing fine in it, but his experience was not so wide as the cobbler’s: to him the discourse had hinted many things which had not occurred to Donal.