daurna muv for
the fear o' the pits o' water an' the walleen (well-eyes--quagmire-springs)
on ilka han'. The lee-lang nicht I stood, or lay, or kneeled upo' my
k-nees, cryin' to the Lord for grace. I forgot a' aboot election, an'
cried jist as gin I could gar him hear me by haudin' at him. An' i' the
mornin', whan the licht cam', I faund that my face was to the risin'
sun. And I crap oot o' the bog, an' hame to my ain hoose. An' ilka body
'at I met o' the road took the tither side o' 't, and glowert at me as
gin I had been a ghaist or a warlock. An' the bairns playin' aboot the
doors ran in like rabbits whan they got sicht o' me. An' I begud to
think 'at something fearsome had signed me for a reprobate; an' I jist
closed my door, and gaed to my bed, and loot my wark stan', for wha cud
wark wi' damnation hingin' ower his heid? An' three days gaed ower me,
that nothing passed my lips but a drap o' milk an' water. An' o' the
fourth day, i' the efternoon, I gaed to my wark wi' my heid swimmin'
and my hert like to brak for verra glaidness. I _was_ ane o' the
chosen.["]

"But hoo did ye fin' that oot, Thomas?" asked Annie, trembling.

"Weel, lassie," answered Thomas, with solemn conviction in every tone,
"it's my firm belief that, say what they like, there is, and there can
be, but _one_ way o' comin' to the knowledge o' that secret."

"And what's that?" entreated Annie, whose life seemed to hang upon his
lips.

"Jist this. Get a sicht o' the face o' God.--It's my belief, an' a' the
minnisters in creation'll no gar me alter my min', that no man can get
a glimp' o' the face o' God but ane o' the chosen. I'm no sayin' 'at a
man's no ane o' the elec' that hasna had that favour vouchsaufed to
_him_; but this I _do_ say, that he canna ken his election wi'oot that.
Try ye to get a sicht o' the face o' God, lassie: syne ye'll ken and be
at peace. Even Moses himsel' cudna be saitisfeed wi'oot that."

"What is't like, Thomas?" said Annie, with an eagerness which awe made
very still.

"No words can tell that. It's all in the speerit. Whan ye see't ye'll
ken't. There's no fear o' mistakin' _that_."

Teacher and scholar were silent. Annie was the first to speak. She had
gained her quest.

"Am I to gang hame noo, Thomas?"

"Ay, gang hame, lassie, to yer prayers. But I doobt it's dark. I'll
gang wi' ye.--Jean, my shune!"

"Na, na; I could gang hame blinlins," remonstrated Annie.

"Haud yer tongue. I'm gaein hame wi' ye, bairn