'Weel,' says
I, 'I dinna care what they ca' them; but gin ever I jine ony kirk, that
s' be the kirk.' Sae, efter that, whan ance I had gotten a sure houp, a
rael grun' for believin' that I was ane o' the called and chosen, I
jist jined mysel' to them that sud be like them???-for they ca'd them a'
Missionars."
"Is that lang sin syne?"
"Ay, it's twenty year noo."
"I thocht as muckle. I doobt they hae fared like maist o' the new
fashions."
"Hoo that?"
"Grown some auld themsel's. There's a feow signs o' decrepitude, no to
say degeneracy, amo' ye, isna there?"
"I maun alloo that. At the first, things has a kin' o' a swing that
carries them on. But the sons an' the dochters dinna care sae muckle
aboot them as the fathers and mithers. Maybe they haena come throw the
hards like them."
"And syne there'll be ane or twa cruppen in like that chosen vessel o'
grace they ca' Robert Bruce. I'm sure he's eneuch to ruin ye i' the
sicht o' the warl', hooever you and he may fare at heid-quarters, bein'
a' called and chosen thegither."
"For God's sake, dinna think that sic as him gies ony token o' being
ane o' the elec."
"Hoo wan he in than? They say ye're unco' particular.
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