Mr Cowie held out his hand to her, and said,
"Well, my little maiden, what do you want?"
"Please, sir, wad ye len' me a sang-buik?"
"A psalm-book?" said the minister, hesitatingly, supposing he had not
heard aright, and yet doubting if this could be the correction of his
auricular blunder.
"Na, sir; I hae a psalm-buik at hame. It's a sang-buik that I want the
len' o'."
Now the minister was one of an old school--a very worthy kind-hearted
man, with nothing of what has been called _religious experience_. But
he knew what some of his Lord's words meant, and amongst them certain
words about little children. He had a feeling likewise, of more
instinctive origin, that to be kind to little children was an important
branch of his office. So he drew Annie close to him, as he sat in his
easy-chair, laid his plump cheek against her thin white one, and said
in the gentlest way:
"And what do you want a song-book for, dawtie?"
"To learn bonnie sangs oot o', sir. Dinna ye think they're the bonniest
things in a' the warl',--sangs, sir?"
For Annie had by this time learned to love ballad-verse above
everything but Alec and Dowie.
"And what kind o' sangs do ye like?" the clergyman asked, instead of
replying.
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