'What should she want him home for?' asked Dr. Anderson, still
making conversation.
'I didna mean hame to Rothieden. I believe she cud bide never
seein' 'im again, gin only he wasna i' the ill place. She has awfu'
notions aboot burnin' ill sowls for ever an' ever. But it's no
hersel'. It's the wyte o' the ministers. Doctor, I do believe she
wad gang an' be brunt hersel' wi' a great thanksgivin', gin it wad
lat ony puir crater oot o' 't--no to say my father. An' I sair
misdoobt gin mony o' them 'at pat it in her heid wad do as muckle.
I'm some feared they're like Paul afore he was convertit: he wadna
lift a stane himsel', but he likit weel to stan' oot by an' luik
on.'
A deep sigh, almost a groan, from the bed, reminded them that they
were talking too much and too loud for a sick-room. It was followed
by the words, muttered, but articulate,
'What's the good when you don't know whether there's a God at all?'
''Deed, that's verra true, Mr. Ericson,' returned Robert. 'I wish ye
wad fin' oot an' tell me. I wad be blithe to hear what ye had to
say anent it--gin it was ay, ye ken.'
Ericson went on murmuring, but inarticulately now.
'This won't do at all, Robert, my boy,' said Dr. Anderson. 'You must
not talk about such things with him, or indeed about anything. You
must keep him as quiet as ever you can.'
'I thocht he was comin' till himsel',' returned Robert. 'But I will
tak care, I assure ye, doctor.
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