"
"And what got ye there?"
"I got this upo' the road hame."
"But what got ye there?"
"Weel, I got the blue lift."
"And what was that to ye?"
"It _said_ to me that I was a foolish man to care aboot the claiks and
the strifes o' the warl'; for a' was quaiet aboon, whatever stramash
they micht be makin' doon here i' the cellars o' the speeritual
creation."
Annie was silent: while she did not quite understand him, she had a dim
perception of a grand meaning in what he said.
The fact was that Annie was the greater of the two _in esse_; Cupples
the greater _in posse_. His imagination let him see things far beyond
what he could for a long time attain unto.
"But what got ye at the kirk, Annie?"
"Weel, I canna say I got verra muckle the day. Mr Turnbull's text was,
'Thou, Lord, art merciful, for thou renderest to every man according to
his works.'"
"Ye micht hae gotten a hantel oot o' that."
"Ay. But ye see, he said the Lord was merciful to ither fowk whan he
rendert to the wicked the punishment due to them. And I cudna richtly
feel i' my hert that I cud praise the Lord for that mercy."
"I dinna wonner, my bairn."
"But eh! Mr Cupples, Mr Turnbull's no like that aye.
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