With a volcanic
heart of love, her outside was always so still and cold!--snow on
the mountain sides, hot vein-coursing lava within. For her highest
duty was submission to the will of God. Ah! if she had only known
the God who claimed her submission! But there is time enough for
every heart to know him.
'Noo be dooce,' she repeated, 'an' sit doon, and tell me aboot the
fowk at Bodyfauld. I houpe ye thankit them, or ye left, for their
muckle kindness to ye.'
The boys were silent.
'Didna ye thank them?'
'No, grannie; I dinna think 'at we did.'
'Weel, that was ill-faured o' ye. Eh! but the hert is deceitfu'
aboon a' thing, and desperately wicked. Who can know it? Come
awa'. Come awa'. Robert, festen the door.'
And she led them to the corner for prayer, and poured forth a
confession of sin for them and for herself, such as left little that
could have been added by her own profligate son, had he joined in
the prayer. Either there are no degrees in guilt, or the Scotch
language was equal only to the confession of children and holy
women, and could provide no more awful words for the contrition of
the prodigal or the hypocrite. But the words did little harm, for
Robert's mind was full of the kite and the violin, and was probably
nearer God thereby than if he had been trying to feel as wicked as
his grandmother told God that he was. Shargar was even more
divinely employed at the time than either; for though he had not had
the manners to thank his benefactor, his heart had all the way home
been full of tender thoughts of Miss Lammie's kindness; and now,
instead of confessing sins that were not his, he was loving her over
and over, and wishing to be back with her instead of with this
awfully good woman, in whose presence there was no peace, for all
the atmosphere of silence and calm in which she sat.
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