The word itsel' oot
o' his mou' fa's as deid as chaff upo' clay. Honest Jeames there'll
rise ance mair; but never a word that man says, wi' the croon o' 's
heid i' the how o' 's neck, 'll rise to beir witness o' his
ministrations."
"Hoot, Thamas! It's no for the likes o' me to flee i' your face--but
jist say a fair word for the livin' ower the deid, ye ken."
"Na, na. It's fair words maks foul wark; and the wrath o' the Almichty
maun purge this toon or a' be dune. There's a heap o' graceless gaeins
on in't; and that puir feckless body, the minister, never gies a pu' at
the bridle o' salvation, to haud them aff o' the scaur (cliff) o'
hell."
The stone-mason generally spoke of the Almighty as if he were in a
state of restrained indignation at the wrongs he endured from his
children. If Thomas was right in this, then certainly he himself was
one of his offspring. If he was wrong, then there was much well worth
his unlearning.
The prayer was soon over, and the company again seated themselves,
waiting till the coffin should be placed in the hearse, which now stood
at the door.
"We'll jist draw the cork o' anither boatle," whispered a sharp-faced
man to his neighbour.
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