'It's a' true,' said the soutar; 'but, man Robert, dinna ye think the
minister was some sair upo' me?'

'I duv think it,' answered Robert.

'Something beirs 't in upo' me 'at he wadna be sae sair upo' me himsel'.
There's something i' the New Testament, some gait, 'at's pitten 't into
my heid; though, faith, I dinna ken whaur to luik for 't. Canna ye help
me oot wi' 't, man?'

Robert could think of nothing but the parable of the prodigal son. Mrs.
Alexander got him the New Testament, and he read it. She sat at the foot
of the bed listening.

'There!' cried the soutar, triumphantly, 'I telled ye sae! Not ae word
aboot the puir lad's sins! It was a' a hurry an' a scurry to get the
new shune upo' 'im, an' win at the calfie an' the fiddlin' an' the
dancin'.--O Lord,' he broke out, 'I'm comin' hame as fest 's I can; but
my sins are jist like muckle bauchles (shoes down at heel) upo' my feet
and winna lat me. I expec' nae ring and nae robe, but I wad fain hae a
fiddle i' my grup when the neist prodigal comes hame; an' gin I dinna
fiddle weel, it s' no be my wyte.--Eh, man! but that is what I ca' gude,
an' a' the minister said--honest man--'s jist blether till 't.--O Lord,
I sweir gin ever I win up again, I'll put in ilka steek (stitch) as
gin the shune war for the feet o' the prodigal himsel'. It sall be gude
wark, O Lord. An' I'll never lat taste o' whusky intil my mou'--nor
smell o' whusky intil my nose, gin sae be 'at I can help it--I sweir 't,
O Lord. An' gin I binna raised up again--'

Here his voice trembled and ceased, and silence endured for a short
minute. Then he called his wife.

'Come here, Bell. Gie me a kiss, my bonny lass. I hae been an ill man to
you.'

'Na, na, Sandy. Ye hae aye been gude to me--better nor I deserved. Ye
hae been naebody's enemy but yer ain.'

'Haud yer tongue. Ye're speykin' waur blethers nor the minister, honest
man! I tell ye I hae been a damned scoon'rel to ye. I haena even hauden
my han's aff o' ye. And eh! ye war a bonny lass whan I merried ye. I hae
blaudit (spoiled) ye a'thegither. But gin I war up, see gin I wadna gie
ye a new goon, an' that wad be something to make ye like yersel' again.
I'm affrontet wi' mysel' 'at I had been sic a brute o' a man to ye.
But ye maun forgie me noo, for I do believe i' my hert 'at the Lord's
forgien me. Gie me anither kiss, lass. God be praised, and mony thanks
to you! Ye micht hae run awa' frae me lang or noo, an' a'body wad hae
said ye d