"
"And what's that?" entreated Annie, whose life seemed to hang upon his
lips.
"Jist this. Get a sicht o' the face o' God.--It's my belief, an' a' the
minnisters in creation'll no gar me alter my min', that no man can get
a glimp' o' the face o' God but ane o' the chosen. I'm no sayin' 'at a
man's no ane o' the elec' that hasna had that favour vouchsaufed to
_him_; but this I _do_ say, that he canna ken his election wi'oot that.
Try ye to get a sicht o' the face o' God, lassie: syne ye'll ken and be
at peace. Even Moses himsel' cudna be saitisfeed wi'oot that."
"What is't like, Thomas?" said Annie, with an eagerness which awe made
very still.
"No words can tell that. It's all in the speerit. Whan ye see't ye'll
ken't. There's no fear o' mistakin' _that_."
Teacher and scholar were silent. Annie was the first to speak. She had
gained her quest.
"Am I to gang hame noo, Thomas?"
"Ay, gang hame, lassie, to yer prayers. But I doobt it's dark. I'll
gang wi' ye.--Jean, my shune!"
"Na, na; I could gang hame blinlins," remonstrated Annie.
"Haud yer tongue. I'm gaein hame wi' ye, bairn.--Jean, my shune!"
"Hoot, Thamas! I've jist cleaned them," screeched Jean from the kitchen
at the second call.
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