"Na, I dinna. I quit it when they brocht the kist o' whustles intill't. I wadna stand it. There's nae real Presbyterians there, forbye me an' Jock Campbell—an' I'm sair feart aboot Jock. I doot he's weakenin'. They tell me he speaks to the minister on the street, an' if that's true, there's no' muckle o' the auld religion aboot Jock, I'm fearin'."
"Do you not speak to the minister?"
"Na, I dinna. There's naething o' the hypocrite aboot me, I'm tellin' ye. I settled the minister fine the last word I spoke to him. He came to see me; an' he thocht he could wheedle me aboot the organ i' the hoose o' God.
"'Div ye no' ken,' he says to me, 'aboot Dauvit, the sweet singer o' Israel—how he played a' kinds o' instruments i' the Lord's hoose?' He thocht he had me. But I gied him as guid as he brocht. What think ye I answered him?"
"I really have no idea," said Mr. Blake. "What was it?"
"'Div ye think,' says I, lookin' fair at him, 'div ye think I tak Dauvit for a paittern?'—and it did for him. 'I'll hae to be gaein',' says he, 'I hae a funeral.' 'Aye,' says I, 'ye'd better hae a funeral'—an' we haena spoken to ane anither since."
"That's a pity," said Mr. Blake, "it seems too bad that the soul's interests should suffer because of a matter of that kind. Of course," he continued, "I don't say that a man may not be religious because he doesn't go to church. Men may scorn the bridge and still get across the river, but they would have got along better by the bridge."
"I dinna ken aboot the brig," said the other, "that isna to the point,"—for he was not of a metaphorical turn of mind—"but I've nae doot aboot bein' religious. A man in my walk o' life, in my business, ye ken, canna weel help bein' religious. He's the same as the Apostle Paul."
"What?" said Mr. Blake, "are you a tent-maker?"
"Na, na, certainly not; there's nane o' them nowadays. A man in my callin' doesna do the same as Paul, but he can say the same, ye see. I can say wi' Paul: 'Death to me is great gain'—I'm an undertaker, ye ken."
