"Eh, my bairn, but I see fat ye would be at, noo. But ye're jist for a' the earth like the onbelievin' Thamas, that wouldna rest satisfeid till he pit his fingers intil His maister's verra side. We mauna forget that He says Himsel, 'Blessed are they who dinna see, and yet believe.'"
Kirsty's Biblical illustration was too much advanced to suit the little untaught maiden, but she gathered enough from it to begin to fear that the wee leddy must be right after all, and presently she said, in a mournful tone—
"Then, Kirsty, it's true that we canna see His face nor hear Him speakin' no more at all?"
"No wi' the eye o' sense, my bairn. 'The warl seeth me nae mair; but ye see me,' He says Himsel', and He aye keeps His word. Jist ye get a sight o' Him wi' the eye o' faith, bairn, and it will mak' ye rejoice and be glaid a' yer days;" and the old woman turned with a radiant smile to the little girl, who sat gazing wistfully, with folded hands.
It was evident that this good Lord was a real present person to Kirsty, however shadowy might be the conception which Morag could at present form of Him. But to understand in any degree that He was a real, present friend, though unseen, was more than Morag could know, just then.
The yellow autumn sun came streaming in at the little window, and shone on Kirsty's face, showing how wan and wearied it was after her sleepless night. Morag was full of motherly, ministering instincts, and it made her little heart ache to see the kind old woman look so ill and feeble. Glancing at the cold hearth, she remembered, wondering how she could have been so long of thinking about it, that Kirsty could not have had any breakfast yet, and must be cold and faint for want of it.
"Wouldna ye be better wi' a cup o' tea, Kirsty? I'll jist licht a bit fire, and be puttin' the kettle on," said Morag, as she rose and began to break some dead branches which Kirsty's careful fingers had gathered in the gloaming on the evening before.
"'Deed, bairn, I would tak' it richt kin' o' ye," replied Kirsty, who had always the good grace to receive a favor simply.
The branches soon began to crackle merrily, the peats caught the glow, and the kettle commenced to sing in the midst of the cheerful blaze. Morag moved quietly about, filled with contentment that she was able to be of use to Kirsty. She had shut her eyes, and was lying quietly, so Morag did not trouble her with questions, but seemed to know by instinct where all the component parts of a cup of tea were to be gathered. When Kirsty opened her eyes again, it was to see the little maiden standing by her bedside with the restoring beverage all ready, and a bit of beautiful toasted bread into the bargain.
"Eh, but it's unca kin' to be comin' ministerin' til an auld body like me," said the old woman, as she sat up in bed. "But winna yer faither be wonderin' what's come ower ye? ye mauna anger him, ye ken."