“Cosmo, are they what they luik?”
“What luik they, father?” asked Cosmo.
“Bonny bits o’ glaiss they luik,” answered the old man. “But,” he went on, “I canna but believe them something better, they come til ’s in sic a time o’ sair need. But, be they this or be they that, the Lord’s wull be dune—noo an’ for ever, be it, I say, what it like!”
“I wuss it, father!” rejoined Cosmo. “But I ken something aboot sic-like things, frae bein’ sae muckle in Mr. Burns’s shop, an’ hauding a heap o’ conference wi’ im about them; an’ I tell ye, sir, they’re maistly a’ di’mon’s; an’ the nummer o’ thoosan’ poun’ they maun be worth gien they be worth a saxpence, I daurna guess!”
“They’ll be eneuch to pey oor debts ony gait, ye think, Cosmo?”
“Ay, that wull they—an’ mony a hun’er times ower. They’re maistly a guid size, an’ no a feow o’ them lairge.”
“Cosmo, we’re ower lang ohn thankit. Come here, my son; gang doon upo’ yer knees, an lat’s say to the Lord what we’re thinkin’.”
Cosmo obeyed, and knelt at his father’s knee, and his father laid his hand upon his head that so they might pray more in one.
“Lord,” he said, “though naething a man can tak in his han’s can ever be his ain, no bein’ o’ his nature, that is, made i’ thy eemage, yet, O Lord, the thing ’at’s thine, made by thee efter thy holy wull an’ pleesur, man may touch an’ no be defiled. Yea, he may tak pleesur baith in itsel’ an’ in its use, sae lang as he han’les ’t i’ the how o’ thy han’, no grippin’ at it an’ ca’in’ ’t his ain, an’ lik a rouch bairn seekin’ to snap it awa’ ’at he may hae his fule wull o’ ’t. O God, they’re bonny stanes an’ fu’ o’ licht: forbid ’at their licht sud breed darkness i’ the hert o’ Cosmo an’ me. O God, raither nor we sud du or feel ae thing i’ consequence o’ this thy gift, that thoo wadna hae us do or feel, we wad hae thee tak again the gift; an’ gien i’ thy mercy, for it’s a’ mercy wi’ thee, it sud turn oot, efter a’, ’at they’re no stanes o’ thy makin’, but coonterfeit o’ glaiss, the produc’ o’ airt an’ man’s device, we’ll lay them a’ thegither, an’ keep them safe, an’ luik upon them as a token o’ what thoo wad hae dune for ’s gien it hadna been ’at we warna yet to be trustit wi’ sae muckle, an’ that for the safety an’ clean-throuness o’ oor sowls. O God, latna the sunshiny Mammon creep intil my Cosmo’s hert an’ mak a’ mirk; latna the licht that is in him turn to darkness. God hae mercy on his wee bairns, an’ no lat the play ocks he gies them tak their e’en aff o’ the giein’ han’! May the licht noo streamin’ frae the hert o’ the bonny stanes be the bodily presence o’ thy speerit, as ance was the doo ’at descendit upo’ the maister, an’ the buss ’at burned wi’ fire an’ wasna consumed. Thoo art the father o’ lichts, an’ a’ licht is thine. Gar oor herts burn like them—a’ licht an’ nae reek! An’ gien ony o’ them cam in at a wrang door, may they a’ gang oot at a richt ane. Thy wull be dune, which is the purifyin’ fire o’ a’ thing, an’ a’ sowl! Amen.”
He ceased, and was silent, praying still. Nor did Cosmo yet rise from his knees: the joy, and yet more the relief at his heart filled him afresh with fear, lest, no longer spurred by the same sense of need, he should the less run after him from whom help had come so plentifully. Alas! how is it with our hearts that in trouble they cry, and in joy forget! that we think it hard of God not to hear, and when he has answered abundantly, turn away as if we wanted him no more!