“I’m aul’er nor you, sir; sae it maun hae been the Lord himsel’ ’at pat it intil me.”
“We’ll see the morn, Grizzie. I’m no that sure there’s onything mair intil ’t nor a mere fule word. For onything I ken, the thing may be nae better nor a bit o’ braiss. I hae thoucht mony a time it luikit, in places, unco like braiss. But I s’ tak it the morn’s mornin’ to Jeemie Merson. We’ll see what he says til ’t. Gien ony body i’ these pairts hae ony authority in sic maitters, it’s Jeemie. An’ I thank ye hertily, Grizzie.”
But Grizzie was not well pleased that her master should so lightly pass the reasoned portion of her utterance; like many another prophet, she prized more the part of her prophecy that came from herself, than the part that came from the Lord.
“Sae plain as he cam an’ gaed, laird, I thoucht ye micht hae been considerin’ him.”
The laird replied to her tone rather than her words.
“Hoots, Grizzie, wuman!” he said, “was na ye jist tellin’ me no to heed him a hair? An’ no ae hair wad I heed him, ’cep’ it wad gie ony rist til ’s puir wan’erin’ sowl.”
“I but thoucht the thing worth a thoucht, laird,” said Grizzie, humbly and apologetically; and with a kind “Guid nicht to ye, laird,” turned away, and went up the stairs to her room.
The moment she was gone, the laird fell on his knees, and gave God thanks for the word he had received by his messenger—if indeed it pleased him that such Grizzie should prove to be.
“O Lord,” he said, “with thee the future is as the present, and the past as the future. In the long past it may be thou didst provide this supply for my present need—didst even then prepare the answer to the prayers with which thou knewest I should assail thine ear. Never in all my need have I so much desired money as now for the good of my boy. But if this be but one of my hopes, not one of thy intents, give me the patience of a son, O Father.”
With these words he rose from his knees, and taking his book, read and enjoyed into the dead of the night.