“Daur ye speyk o’ a thing like that as a bit faut?—Ca’ ye leein and hypocrisy a bit faut? I alloo the sin itsel mayna be jist damnable, but to what bouk mayna it come wi ither and waur sins upo the back o’ ’t?—Wi leein, and haudin aff o’ himsel, a man may grow a cratur no fit to be taen up wi the taings! Eh me, but my pride i’ the laddie! It ’ill be sma’ pride for me gien this fearsome thing turn oot to be true!”
“And wha daur say it’s true?” rejoined Marion almost fiercely.
“Nane but himsel; and gien it be sae, and he disna confess, the rod laid upon him ’ill be the rod o’ iron, ’at smashes a man like a muckle crock.—I maun tak Jamie throuw han’ (to task)!”
“Noo jist tak ye care, Peter, ’at ye dinna quench the smokin flax.”
“I’m mair likly to get the bruised reed intil my nakit loof (palm)!” returned Peter. “But I s’ say naething till he’s a wee better, for we maunna drive him to despair!—Eh gien he would only repent! What is there I wadna dee to clear him—that is, to ken him innocent o’ ony wrang til her! I wad dee wi thanksgivin!”
“Weel, I kenna that we’re jist called upon sae far as that!” said Marion. “A lass is aye able to tak care o’ hersel!”
“I wud! I wud!—God hae mercy upo’ the twa o’ them!”
In the afternoon James was a good deal better. When his father went in to see him, his first words were—
“I doobt, father, I’m no likly to preach ony mair: I’ve come to see ’at I never was fit for the wark, neither had I ever ony ca’ til’t.”
“It may be sae, Jeemie,” answered his father; “but we’ll haud awa frae conclusions till ye’re better, and able to jeedge wi’oot the bias o’ ony thrawin distemper.”