in' he had been used
to see i' the aisle o' the kirk his mither tuik him til! That was a
stroke o' God's magic! There's nae kennin' what God can do, nor yet
what best o' rizzons he has for no doin' 't sooner! Whan we think he's
lattin' the time gang, an' doin' naething, he may be jist doin' a'
thing! No 'at I ever think like that noo; lat him do 'at he likes,
what he does I'm sure o'. I'm o' his min' whether I ken his min' or
no.--Eh, my lassie! my lassie! I could better win ower a hantle nor
her giein' you the slip that gait, sir. It was sae dooble o' her!
It's naething wrang in itsel' 'at a yoong lass sud be taen wi' the
attentions o' a bonny lad like lord Forgue! That's na agen the natur
'at God made! But to preten' an' tak in!--to be cunnin' an' sly!
that's evil. An' syne for the ither lad--eh, I doobt that's warst o'
'a! Only I kenna hoo far she had committit hersel' wi' him, for she
was never open-hertit. Eh, sir! it's a fine thing to hae nae sacrets
but sic as lie 'atween yersel' an' yer macker! I can but pray the
Father o' a' to haud his e'e upon her, an' his airms aboot her, an'
keep aff the hardenin' o' the hert 'at despises coonsel! I'm sair
doobtin' we canna do muckle mair for her! She maun tak her ain gait,
for we canna put a collar roon' her neck, an' lead her aboot whaurever
we gang. She maun win her ain breid; an' gien she didna that, she wad
be but the mair ta'en up wi' sic nonsense as the likes o' lord Forgue
's aye ready to say til ony bonny lass. An' I varily believe she's
safer there wi' you an' the hoosekeeper nor whaur he could win at her
easier, an' whaur they wud be readier to tak her character fra her upo'
less offence, an' sen' her aboot her business. Fowk 's unco' jealous
about their hoose 'at wad trouble themsel's little aboot a lass! Sae
lang as it's no upo' their premises, she may do as she likes for them!
Doory an' me, we'll jist lay oor cares i' the fine sicht an' 'afore the
compassionate hert o' the Maister, an' see what he can do for 's! Sic
things aiven we can lea' to him! I houp there'll be nae mair
bludeshed! He's a fine lad, Steenie Kennedy--come o' a fine stock! His
father was a God-fearin' man--some dour by natur, but wi' an unco
clearin' up throuw grace. I wud wullin'ly hae seen oor Eppy his wife;
he's an honest lad! I'm sorry he gied place to wrath, but he may hae
repentit by the noo, an' troth, I canna blame him muckle at his time o'
life! It's no as gien