“Lie still, sir,” said Lizzy. “It’s naething. I was only jist thinkin’ ’at that wad be the w’y ’at the father o’ my bairn rizoned wi’ himsel’ whan he lee’d to me.”
“Hey!” said the astonished factor, and in his turn held his peace, trying to think.
Now Lizzy, for the last few months, had been going to school, the same school with Malcolm, open to all comers, the only school where one is sure to be led in the direction of wisdom, and there she had been learning to some purpose—as plainly appeared before she had done with the factor.
“Whase kirk are ye elder o’, Maister Craithie?” she asked presently.
“Ow, the kirk o’ Scotlan’, of coorse!” answered the patient, in some surprise at her ignorance.
“Ay, ay,” returned Lizzy; “but whase aucht (owning, property) is ’t?”
“Ow, whase but the Redeemer’s!”
“An’ div ye think, Mr Craithie, ’at gien Jesus Christ had had a horse to sell, he wad ha’e hidden frae him ’at wad buy, ae hair a fau’t ’at the beast hed? Wad he no ha’e dune till ’s neiper as he wad ha’e his neiper du to him?”
“Lassie! lassie! tak care hoo ye even him to sic like as hiz (us). What wad he hae to du wi’ horse-flesh?”
Lizzy held her peace. Here was no room for argument. He had flung the door of his conscience in the face of her who woke it. But it was too late, for the word was in already. Oh! that false reverence which men substitute for adoring obedience, and wherewith they reprove the childlike spirit that does not know another kingdom than that of God and that of Mammon! God never gave man thing to do concerning which it were irreverent to ponder how the son of God would have done it.