"Capital, my boy; first-rate!" the minister cried delightedly. "That's better than anything I learned in college. I don't believe any one could get much nearer to it than that—now we'll just pass from this," smiling around at the elders as he made the suggestion; "there are other things more important—has any of the elders anything else to ask?"
It was not long before two or three of them were in full cry again. Stern questions, weighty interrogatives, suggestive of the deepest mysteries, were propounded to the youthful pair as complacently as though they were being asked how many pints make a gallon. One wanted to know their view of the origin of evil, following this by a suggestion that they should each give a brief statement of the doctrine of the Trinity. Another urged that they should describe in brief the process of regeneration. Still another asked if they could repeat the books of the Bible backwards—any one, he said, could do it the old way—and one good elder capped the climax by saying he would like to hear them tell how to reconcile the free agency of man with the sovereignty of God.
But just at this juncture Geordie Nickle rose, his face beaming with tenderness, and addressed the chair.
"They're fashin' the bairns, Moderator," he said gently. "Wull ye no' let me pit a wee bit question or twa till them mysel'?"
The Moderator was evidently but too well pleased, and his nod gave Geordie the right of way. The old man moved to where Harvey and Madeline were seated, taking his stand partially behind them, his hands resting gently on the heads of both.
"I mind fine the nicht I joined the kirk mysel'," he began; "it was the winter my mither gaed awa, an' I think God answered her prayer, to mak her glad afore she went—but the elders askit me some o' thae vera questions—an' I kent then hoo far they was frae the soul," he said gravely, looking compassionately on the faces now upturned to his own. "Sae I'm juist gaein' to ask ye what I was wishin' they'd ask frae me. Div ye no' love the Saviour, lassie—and div ye no' ken He's the son o' God?" he asked reverently, tenderly. "Div ye no' ken that, lassie?—an' the same wi' yirsel', my laddie?—I'm sure ye're baith trustin' Him, to the savin' o' the soul; are ye no', bairnies?" and the old man's face shone as the great truth kindled his own simple soul.
Harvey and Madeline nodded eager assent, a muffled affirmative breaking from their lips.
"An' ye ken the Saicrament's juist the meetin'-place where He breaks bread wi' His children, and where they say, afore a' the folk, that they love Him, and trust Him, an' want to be aye leal an' true till Him, and show forth His death till He come—div ye no' ken it that way?" the kindly voice went on, his hands still resting on the youthful heads.
Harvey answered first: "That's what I'd like to be—that's what I want to do," he said simply.
"I want to, too—I'm the same as Harvey," Madeline faltered sweetly.