richt flooer to tak' to the kirk, Annie?"

"Ow! sober floories that smell o' the yird (earth), like."

"Ay! ay! Sic like's what?" asked Cupples, for he had found in Annie a
poetic nature that delighted him.

"Ow! sic like's thyme and southren-wood, and maybe a bittie o'
mignonette."

"Ay! ay! And sae the cowmon custom abuses you, young, bonnie lammies o'
the flock. Wadna ye tak' the rose o' Sharon itsel', nor the fire-reid
lilies that made the text for the Saviour's sermon? Ow! na. Ye maun be
sober, wi' flooers bonnie eneuch, but smellin' o' the kirkyard raither
nor the blue lift, which same's the sapphire throne o' Him that sat
thereon."

"Weel, but allooin' that, ye sudna gar fowk lauch, wi' a bonnie flooer,
but ridickleous for the size o' 't, 'cep' ye gie 't room. A kirk's ower
little for't."

"Ye're richt there, my dawtie. And I haena been to the kirk ava'. I hae
been to the hills."

"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. He's bonnie upo'
the Gospel news. I wiss ye wad gang and hear him the nicht. I canna
gang, cause Mrs Forbes is gaun oot."

"I'll gang and hear him, to please you, my lassie; for, as I said, I
haena been to the kirk the day."

"But do ye think it's richt to brak the Sawbath, Mr Cupples?"

"Ay and no."

"I dinna unnerstan' ye."

"What the