“You mustn’t suppose I am naturally so philosophical. It stands for five and forty years of the teaching of the Son of Man in this wonderful school of his, where the clever would be destroyed but for the stupid, where the church would tear itself to pieces but for the laws of the world, and where the wicked themselves are the greatest furtherance of godliness in the good.”
“But wha ever cud hae been baze eneuch to du ’t!” said Malcolm, too much astounded for his usual eager attention to the words that fell from the master.
“That I would rather not inquire,” answered Mr Graham. “In the meantime it would be better if the friends would meet somewhere else, for this house is mine only in virtue of my office. Will you tell them so for me?”
“Surely, sir. But will ye no mak ane?”
“Not till this is settled. I will after, so long as I may be here.”
“Gien onybody had been catecheesin’ the bairns, I wad surely hae h’ard o’ ’t!” said Malcolm, after a pause of rumination, “Poochy wad hae tellt me. I saw him thestreen (yester-even).—Wha’ll ever say again a thing’s no poassible!”
“Whatever doctrine I may have omitted to press in the school,” said Mr Graham, “I have inculcated nothing at variance with the Confession of Faith or the Shorter Catechism.”
“Hoo can ye say that, sir?” returned Malcolm, “whan, in as weel ’s oot o’ the schuil, ye hae aye insistit ’at God’s a just God— abune a’ thing likin’ to gie fair play?”
“Well, does the Catechism say anything to the contrary?”
“No in sae mony words, doobtless; but it says a sicht o’ things ’at wad mak God oot the maist oonrichteous tyrant ’at ever was.”