to do,' said Mrs. Falconer,
reflectingly. 'Nicht an' mornin' an' aften midday prayin' for an' wi'
him.'

'Maybe ye scunnert him at it, grannie.'

She gave a stifled cry of despair.

'Dinna say that, laddie, or ye'll drive me oot o' my min'. God forgie
me, gin that be true. I deserve hell mair nor my Anerew.'

'But, ye see, grannie, supposin' it war sae, that wadna be laid to your
accoont, seein' ye did the best ye kent. Nor wad it be forgotten to him.
It wad mak a hantle difference to his sin; it wad be a great excuse
for him. An' jist think, gin it be fair for ae human being to influence
anither a' 'at they can, and that's nae interferin' wi' their free
wull--it's impossible to measure what God cud do wi' his speerit winnin'
at them frae a' sides, and able to put sic thouchts an' sic pictures
into them as we canna think. It wad a' be true that he tellt them, and
the trowth can never be a meddlin' wi' the free wull.'

Mrs. Falconer made no reply, but evidently went on thinking.

She was, though not a great reader, yet a good reader. Any book that was
devout and thoughtful she read gladly. Through some one or other of this
sort she must have been instructed concerning free will, for I do
not think such notions could have formed any portion of the religious
teaching she had heard. Men in that part of Scotland then believed that
the free will of man was only exercised in rejecting--never in accepting
the truth; and that men were saved by the gift of the Spirit, given
to some and not to others, according to the free will of God, in the
exercise of which no reason appreciable by men, or having anything to do
with their notions of love or justice, had any share. In the recognition
of will and choice in the acceptance of the mercy of God, Mrs. Falconer
was then in advance of her time. And it is no wonder if her notions did
not all hang logically together.

'At ony rate, grannie,' resumed her grandson, 'I haena dune a' for him
'at I can yet; and I'm no gaein' to believe onything that wad mak me
remiss in my endeavour. Houp for mysel', for my father, for a'body, is
what's savin' me, an' garrin' me work. An' gin ye tell me that I'm no
workin' wi' God, that God's no the best an' the greatest worker aboon
a', ye tak the verra hert oot o' my breist, and I dinna believe in God
nae mair, an' my han's drap doon by my sides, an' my legs winna gang.
No,' said Robert, rising, 'God 'ill gie me my father sometime, grannie;
for what