"Ah dinna ken what's come till the man; he acted maist strange aboot the bit music-boax, an' whiles Ah hoped he'd got some sense intill him. But there's nae change in him. It's a tea-meetin' or a huskin' bee, or ane o' his society meetin's ivery night. Och, for a meenister wi' the grace of God in his heart an' a hunger for souls! We hae fallen upon ill times, Duncan!"
Duncan Polite roused himself with an effort. "They will not be so bad but the Father can mend them, Andra, an' indeed it will not be like the times when your father an' mine would be praying here for the Glen."
"Ah dinna ken that," replied old Andrew morosely. "If they didna' have a meenister in thae times, to show them the way o' salvation, they didna hae a bit worldling to lead them astray."
"Oh, it may be better than we will be thinking; the young folk now are always at the church, Andra, and at the prayer meeting."
"Hooch! an' they might jist as well be awa' for a' the good they get. There's a pack o' godless young folk in the Glen that naething but the terrors o' damnation'll iver reach an' they listen to a meenister who says 'peace, peace' when there's nae peace!"
"Oh, well, indeed, indeed,"—Duncan Polite's gentle voice again stemmed the torrent—"we must jist be praying for an awakening, Andra, like our fathers would be doing. And it will be coming," he added with a sudden fire. "But I will be fearing the sacrifice."
Andrew Johnstone paused in his fierce puffing at his pipe, and turned to look at his friend. The light of the dying sun touched his white hair and his thin face and showed the sudden, mysterious, supernatural fire in his deep eyes. The matter-of-fact Scot felt a strange sensation as of the presence of some greater power.
"The sacrifice, Duncan?" he asked in a tone of surprise. "Ye ken they will na' heed the one great Sacrifice that's already been made."
"Yes, oh yes, that's jist it, Andra." Duncan's voice sank to a whisper. "They have rejected the Sacrifice and the Lord will require one from among us. It would be a message to me."
His voice died away; his eyes seemed to pierce the violet mists of the valley with prophetic power.