When they reached the farmhouse, the small gathering was nearly complete. It was mostly of farm labourers; but a few of the congregation worked in a quarry, where serpentine lay under the peat. In this serpentine occurred veins of soapstone, occasionally of such a thickness as to be itself the object of the quarrier: it was used in the making of porcelain; and small quantities were in request for other purposes.
When the soutar began, James was a little shocked at first to hear him use his mother-tongue as in his ordinary conversation; but any sense of its unsuitableness vanished presently, and James soon began to feel that the vernacular gave his friend additional power of expression, and therewith of persuasion.
“My frien’s, I was jist thinkin, as I cam ower the hill,” he began, “hoo we war a’ made wi’ differin pooers—some o’ ’s able to dee ae thing best, and some anither; and that led me to remark, that it was the same wi’ the warl we live in—some pairts o’ ’t fit for growin aits, and some bere, and some wheat, or pitatas; and hoo ilk varyin rig had to be turnt til its ain best eese. We a’ ken what a lot o’ eeses the bonny green-and-reid-mottlet marble can be put til; but it wadna do weel for biggin hooses, specially gien there war mony streaks o’ saipstane intil ’t. Still it’s no ’at the saipstane itsel’s o’ nae eese, for ye ken there’s a heap o’ eeses it can be put til. For ae thing, the tailor taks a bit o’ ’t to mark whaur he’s to sen’ the shears alang the claith, when he’s cuttin oot a pair o’ breeks; and again they mix’t up wi the clay they tak for the finer kin’s o’ crockery. But upo’ the ither han’ there’s ae thing it’s eesed for by some, ’at canna be considert a richt eese to mak o’ ’t: there’s ae wull tribe in America they tell me o’, ’at ait a hantle o’ ’t—and that’s a thing I cannot un’erstan’; for it diz them, they say, no guid at a’, ’cep, maybe, it be jist to fill-in the toom places i’ their stammacks, puir reid craturs, and haud their ribs ohn stucken thegither—and maybe that’s jist what they ait it for! Eh, but they maun be sair hungert afore they tak til the vera dirt! But they’re only savage fowk, I’m thinkin, ’at hae hardly begun to be men ava!
“Noo ye see what I’m drivin’ at? It’s this—that things hae aye to be put to their richt eeses! But there are guid eeses and better eeses, and things canna aye be putten to their best eeses; only, whaur they can, it’s a shame to put them to ony ither but their best! Noo, what’s the best eese o’ a man?—what’s a man made for? The carritchis (catechism) says, To glorifee God. And hoo is he to dee that? Jist by deein the wull o’ God. For the ae perfec’ man said he was born intil the warl for that ae special purpose, to dee the wull o’ him that sent him. A man’s for a heap o’ eeses, but that ae eese covers them a’. Whan he’s deein’ the wull o’ God, he’s deein jist a’thing.
“Still there are vahrious wy’s in which a man can be deein the wull o’ his Father in h’aven, and the great thing for ilk ane is to fin’ oot the best w’y he can set aboot deein that wull.
“Noo here’s a man sittin aside me that I maun help set to the best eese he’s fit for—and that is, tellin ither fowk what he kens aboot the God that made him and them, and stirrin o’ them up to dee what He would hae them dee. The fac is, that the man was ance a minister o’ the Kirk o’ Scotlan’; but whan he was a yoong man, he fell intil a great faut:—a yoong man’s faut—I’m no gaein to excuse ’t—dinna think it!—Only I chairge ye, be ceevil til him i’ yer vera thouchts, rememberin hoo mony things ye hae dene yersels ’at ye hae to be ashamit o’, though some o’ them may never hae come to the licht; for, be sure o’ this, he has repentit richt sair. Like the prodigal, he grew that ashamit o’ what he had dene, that he gied up his kirk, and gaed hame to the day’s darg upon his father’s ferm. And that’s what he’s at the noo, thof he be a scholar, and that a ripe ane! And by his repentance he’s learnt a heap that he didna ken afore, and that he couldna hae learnt ony ither w’y than by turnin wi’ shame frae the path o’ the transgressor. I hae broucht him wi’ me this day, sirs, to tell ye something—he hasna said to me what—that the Lord in his mercy has tellt him. I’ll say nae mair: Mr. Bletherwick, wull ye please tell’s what the Lord has putten it intil yer min’ to say?”
The soutar sat down; and James got up, white and trembling. For a moment or two he was unable to speak, but overcoming his emotion, and falling at once into the old Scots tongue, he said—
“My frien’s, I hae little richt to stan’ up afore ye and say onything; for, as some o’ ye ken, if no afore, at least noo, frae what my frien’ the soutar has jist been tellin ye, I was ance a minister o’ the kirk, but upon a time I behavet mysel that ill, that, whan I cam to my senses, I saw it my duty to withdraw, and mak room for anither to tak up my disgracet bishopric, as was said o’ Judas the traitor. But noo I seem to hae gotten some mair licht, and to ken some things I didna ken afore; sae, turnin my back upo’ my past sin, and believin God has forgien me, and is willin I sud set my han’ to his pleuch ance mair, I hae thoucht to mak a new beginnin here in a quaiet heumble fashion, tellin ye something o’ what I hae begoud, i’ the mercy o’ God, to un’erstan’ a wee for mysel. Sae noo, gien ye'll turn, them o’ ye that has broucht yer buiks wi’ ye, to the saeventh chapter o’ John’s gospel, and the saeventeenth verse, ye’ll read wi me what the Lord says there to the fowk o Jerus’lem: Gien ony man be wullin to dee His wull, he’ll ken whether what I tell him comes frae God, or whether I say ’t only oot o’ my ain heid. Luik at it for yersels, for that’s what it says i’ the Greek, the whilk is plainer than the English to them that un’erstan’ the auld Greek tongue: Gien onybody be wullin to dee the wull o’ God, he’ll ken whether my teachin comes frae God, or I say ’t o’ mysel.”
From that he went on to tell them that, if they kept trusting in God, and doing what Jesus told them, any mistake they made would but help them the better to understand what God and his son would have them do. The Lord gave them no promise, he said, of knowing what this or that man ought to do; but only of knowing what the man himself ought to do. And he illustrated this by the rebuke the Lord gave Peter when, leaving inquiry into the will of God that he might do it, he made inquiry into the decree of God concerning his friend that he might know it; seeking wherewithal, not to prophesy, but to foretell. Then he showed them the difference between the meaning of the Greek word, and that of the modern English word prophesy.
The little congregation seemed to hang upon his words, and as they were going away, thanked him heartily for thus talking to them.