“With one Father, one Brother, one Spirit, one life, one love, one hope!” replied the Doctor.
“True, sir, true, sir, our differences are nothing to our agreements, Doctor.”
“Our non-essential differences arise out of our essential union, Mr. Armstrong. If we differ honestly and conscientiously as brethren, I hope it is because we differ only in judgment as to how to please our Father, and our Eldest Brother. Our hearts are one in our wish to do Their will. For none of us liveth, or dieth even, to himself.”
“Ay, ay, Doctor. So it is, so it is! as the auld saying has’t, ‘The best men are but men at the best.’ We maun carry ane another’s burdens; and ignorance, or even bigotry, is the heaviest ony man can carry for his neebour. Thank God, brighter and better times are coming! We here see through a glass darkly; but then face to face. We know only in pairt; then shall we know even as we are known. We must be faithful to our given light, and serve Him, and not man.”
“There are differences among living men,” replied the Doctor, “but none among the dead. We shall only agree perfectly when we know and love as saints, without error and without sin.”
“I mind,” said David, warming with the conversation, and the pleasure of getting his better heart out—“I mind two neighbours of mine, and ye’ll mind them too, gudewife? that was Johnnie Morton and auld Andrew Gebbie. The tane was a keen Burgher, and the tother an Antiburgher. Baith lived in the same house, though at different ends, and it was the bargain that each should keep his ain side o’ the house aye weel thatched. But they happened to dispute so desperate about the principles o’ their kirks, that at last they quarrelled, and didna speak. So ae day after this, as they were on the roof thatching, each on his ain side, they reached the tap, and sae looking ower, face met face. What could they do? They couldna flee. So at last Andrew took aff his Kilmarnock cap, and, scratching his head, said, ‘Johnnie, you and me, I think, have been very foolish to dispute as we hae done as to Christ’s will aboot our kirks, till we hae forgot His will aboot ourselves; and so we hae fought sae keen for what we ca’ the truth that it has ended in brither fechting against brither. Whatever’s wrang, this canna be richt, if we dinna love. Noo, it strikes me that maybe it’s wi’ the Kirk as wi’ this hoose: ye’re working on ae side and me on the other, but if we only do our wark weel, we wull meet at the tap at last. Gie’s your han’!’ And so they shook han’s, and were the best o’ freens ever after.”
“Thank you, Mr. Armstrong, for the story,” said the Doctor. Then looking to the bed, he remarked, “Oh, if we were only simple, true, and loving, like little children, would we not, like that dear one, enter the kingdom of heaven, and know and love all who were in it, or on their way to it?”
“I’m glad I have met you, Doctor,” resumed the old elder. “It does ane’s heart good to meet a brother who has been a stranger. But if it hadna been for his death noo, we might never have met. Isna that queer? God’s ways are no’ our ways.”
“God brings life out of death,” replied the Doctor, “and in many ways does He ordain praise from babes and sucklings, whether living or dead.” Was not “wee Davie” a home missionary to the dissenting elder and Established Church minister? “And now,” continued the Doctor, “with your permission, good friends, I will read a short psalm and offer up a short prayer before I go.”
They thanked him, and he read the 23rd Psalm. His only remark was, as he closed the Bible, “The Good Shepherd has been pleased to take this dear lamb into His fold, never more to leave it.”