'Of course not.'
'Nor naebody to love you, Mr. Ericson.'
'Of course not.'
'Syne ye wad be yer ain God, Mr. Ericson.'
'Yes. That would follow.'
'I canna imagine a waur hell—closed in amo' naething—wi' naething a' aboot ye, luikin' something a' the time—kennin' 'at it 's a' a lee, and nae able to win clear o' 't.'
'It is hell, my boy, or anything worse you can call it.'
'What for suld ye believe that, than, Mr. Ericson? I wadna believe sic an ill thing as that. I dinna think I cud believe 't, gin ye war to pruv 't to me.'
'I don't believe it. Nobody could prove that either, even if it were so. I am only miserable that I can't prove the contrary.'
'Suppose there war a God, Mr. Ericson, do ye think ye bude (behoved) to be able to pruv that? Do ye think God cud stan' to be pruved as gin he war something sma' eneuch to be turned roon' and roon', and luikit at upo' ilka side? Gin there war a God, wadna it jist be sae—that we cudna prove him to be, I mean?'