Thomas turned in silence and went away rebuked and ashamed. Next day he
sent Peter a pair of old corduroy trowsers, into either leg of which he
might have been buttoned like one of Paddy's twins.
In the midst of this commotion of mind and speech, good Mr Cowie died.
He had taken no particular interest in what was going on, nor even in
the prophecies themselves. Ever since Annie's petition for counsel, he
had been thinking, as he had never thought before, about his own
relation to God; and had found this enough without the prophecies. Now
he had carried his thoughts into another world. While Thomas Crann was
bending his spiritual artillery upon the poor crazy tub in which
floated the earthly presence of Peter Peterson, Mr Cowie's bark was
lying stranded upon that shore whither the tide of time is slowly
drifting each of us.
He was gently regretted by all--even by Thomas.
"Ay! ay!" he said, with slow emphasis, 'long drawn out'; "he's gane, is
he, honest man? Weel, maybe he had the root o' the maitter in him,
although it made unco little show aboon the yird. There was sma' flower
and less fruit. But jeedgment disna belang to us, ye see, Jean, lass.
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