e poassible, an' you naegait 'ithin my sicht or my cry, or
the hearin' o' my ears."

"Div ye believe this, Robert'--at we're a' ane, jist ane, in Christ
Jesus?"

"I canna weel say. I'm no denyin' naething 'at the buik tells me;
ye ken me better nor that, Janet; but there's mony a thing it says
'at I dinna ken whether I believe't 'at my ain han', or whether it
be only at a' thing 'at ye believe, Janet, 's jist to me as gien I
believet it mysel'; an' that's a sair thought, for a man canna be
savet e'en by the proxy o' 's ain wife."

"Weel, ye're just muckle whaur I fin' mysel' whiles, Robert; an' I
comfort mysel' wi' the houp 'at we'll ken the thing there, 'at maybe
we're but tryin' to believe here. But ony gait ye hae pruv't weel
'at you an' me's ane, Robert. Noo we ken frae Scriptur' 'at the
Maister cam to mak aye ane o' them 'at was at twa; an' we ken also
'at he conquered Deith; sae he wad never lat Deith mak the ane 'at
he had made ane, intil twa again: it's no rizon to think it. For
oucht I ken, what luiks like a gangin' awa may be a comin' nearer.
An' there may be w'ys o' comin' nearer till ane anither up yon'er
'at we ken naething aboot doon here. There's that laddie, Gibbie: I
canna but think 'at gien he hed the tongue to speyk, or aiven gien
he cud mak' ony soon' wi' sense intil't, like singin', say, he wad
fin' himsel' nearer till's nor he can i' the noo. Wha kens but them
'at's singin' up there afore the throne, may sing so bonny, 'at, i'
the pooer o' their braw thouchts, their verra sangs may be like
laidders for them to come doon upo', an' hing aboot them 'at they
hae left ahin' them, till the time comes for them to gang an' jine
them i' the green pasturs aboot the tree o' life."

More of like talk followed, but these words concerning
appropinquation in song, although their meaning was not very clear,
took such a hold of Gibbie that he heard nothing after, but fell
asleep thinking about them.

In the middle of the following night, Janet woke her husband.

"Robert! Robert!" she whispered in his ear, "hearken. I'm thinkin'
yon maun be some wee angel come doon to say, 'I ken ye, puir fowk.'"

Robert, scarce daring to draw his breath listened with his heart in
his mouth. From somewhere, apparently within the four walls of the
cottage, came a low lovely sweet song--something like the piping of
a big bird, something like a small human voice.

"It canna be an angel," said Robert at length, "fo