“I believe you, sir,” answered James; “but,” he went on, with an attempt at humour, “it wouldn’t be so much for you to do after all, seeing you would straightway find yourself in a much better place!”
“Maybe whaur the penitent thief sat, some auchteen hunner year ago, waitin to be called up higher!” rejoined the soutar with a watery smile.
The parson opened the door, and went home—where his knees at once found their way to the carpet.
From that night Blatherwick began to go often to the soutar’s, and soon went almost every other day, for at least a few minutes; and on such occasions had generally a short interview with Maggie and the baby, in both of whom, having heard from the soutar the story of the child, he took a growing interest.
“You seem to love him as if he were your own, Maggie!” he said one morning to the girl.
“And isna he my ain? Didna God himsel gie me the bairn intil my vera airms—or a’ but?” she rejoined.
“Suppose he were to die!” suggested the minister. “Such children often do!”
“I needna think aboot that,” she answered. “I would just hae to say, as mony ane has had to say afore me: ‘The Lord gave,’—ye ken the rest, sir!”
But day by day Maggie grew more beautiful in the minister’s eyes, until at last he was not only ready to say that he loved her, but for her sake to disregard worldly and ambitious considerations.