'God's nae like a prood man to tak offence, grannie.There's naething pleases him like the trowth, an' there's naething displeases him like leein', particularly whan it's by way o'
uphaudin' him.He wants nae sic uphaudin'.Noo, ye say things aboot him whiles 'at soun's to me fearsome.'
'What kin' o' things are they, laddie?' asked the old lady, with offence glooming in the background.
'Sic like as whan ye speyk aboot him as gin he was a puir prood bailey-like body, fu' o' his ain importance, an' ready to be doon upo' onybody 'at didna ca' him by the name o' 's office--ay think-thinkin' aboot 's ain glory; in place o' the quaiet, michty, gran', self-forgettin', a'-creatin', a'-uphaudin', eternal bein', wha took the form o' man in Christ Jesus, jist that he micht hae 't in 's pooer to beir and be humblet for oor sakes.Eh, grannie!
think o' the face o' that man o' sorrows, that never said a hard word till a sinfu' wuman, or a despised publican: was he thinkin'
aboot 's ain glory, think ye? An' we hae no richt to say we ken God save in the face o' Christ Jesus.Whatever 's no like Christ is no like God.'
'But, laddie, he cam to saitisfee God's justice by sufferin' the punishment due to oor sins; to turn aside his wrath an' curse; to reconcile him to us.Sae he cudna be a'thegither like God.'
'He did naething o' the kin', grannie.It's a' a lee that.He cam to saitisfee God's justice by giein' him back his bairns; by garrin'
them see that God was just; by sendin' them greetin' hame to fa' at his feet, an' grip his knees an' say, "Father, ye're i' the richt."He cam to lift the weicht o' the sins that God had curst aff o' the shoothers o' them 'at did them, by makin' them turn agen them, an'
be for God an' no for sin.And there isna a word o' reconceelin'
God till 's in a' the Testament, for there was no need o' that: it was us that he needed to be reconcilet to him.An' sae he bore oor sins and carried oor sorrows; for those sins comin' oot in the multitudes--ay and in his ain disciples as weel, caused him no en'
o' grief o' mind an' pain o' body, as a'body kens.It wasna his ain sins, for he had nane, but oors, that caused him sufferin'; and he took them awa'--they're vainishin' even noo frae the earth, though it doesna luik like it in Rag-fair or Petticoat-lane.An' for oor sorrows--they jist garred him greit.His richteousness jist annihilates oor guilt, for it's a great gulf that swallows up and destroys 't.And sae he gae his life a ransom for us: and he is the life o' the world.He took oor sins upo' him, for he cam into the middle o' them an' took them up--by no sleicht o' han', by no quibblin' o' the lawyers, aboot imputin' his richteousness to us, and sic like, which is no to be found i' the Bible at a', though Idinna say that there's no possible meanin' i' the phrase, but he took them and took them awa'; and here am I, grannie, growin' oot o'
my sins in consequennce, and there are ye, grannie, growin' oot o'
yours in consequennce, an' haein' nearhan' dune wi' them a'thegither er this time.'
'I wis that may be true, laddie.But I carena hoo ye put it,'
returned his grandmother, bewildered no doubt with this outburst, 'sae be that ye put him first an' last an' i' the mids' o' a' thing, an' say wi' a' yer hert, "His will be dune!"'
'Wi' a' my hert, "His will be dune," grannie,' responded Robert.
'Amen, amen.And noo, laddie, duv ye think there's ony likliheid that yer father 's still i' the body? I dream aboot him whiles sae lifelike that I canna believe him deid.But that's a' freits (superstitions).'
'Weel, grannie, I haena the least assurance.But I hae the mair houp.Wad ye ken him gin ye saw him?'
'Ken him!' she cried; 'I wad ken him gin he had been no to say four, but forty days i' the sepulchre! My ain Anerew! Hoo cud ye speir sic a queston, laddie?'
'He maun be sair changed, grannie.He maun be turnin' auld by this time.'
'Auld! Sic like 's yersel, laddie.--Hoots, hoots! ye're richt.Iam forgettin'.But nanetheless wad I ken him.'
'I wis I kent what he was like.I saw him ance--hardly twise, but a' that I min' upo' wad stan' me in ill stead amo' the streets o'
Lonnon.'
'I doobt that,' returned Mrs.Falconer--a form of expression rather oddly indicating sympathetic and somewhat regretful agreement with what has been said.'But,' she went on, 'I can lat ye see a pictur'
o' 'im, though I doobt it winna shaw sae muckle to you as to me.He had it paintit to gie to yer mother upo' their weddin' day.Och hone! She did the like for him; but what cam o' that ane, I dinna ken.'
Mrs.Falconer went into the little closet to the old bureau, and bringing out the miniature, gave it to Robert.It was the portrait of a young man in antiquated blue coat and white waistcoat, looking innocent, and, it must be confessed, dull and uninteresting.It had been painted by a travelling artist, and probably his skill did not reach to expression.It brought to Robert's mind no faintest shadow of recollection.It did not correspond in the smallest degree to what seemed his vague memory, perhaps half imagination, of the tall worn man whom he had seen that Sunday.He could not have a hope that this would give him the slightest aid in finding him of whom it had once been a shadowy resemblance at least.
'Is 't like him, grannie?' he asked.
As if to satisfy herself once more ere she replied, she took the miniature, and gazed at it for some time.Then with a deep hopeless sigh, she answered,'Ay, it's like him; but it's no himsel'.Eh, the bonny broo, an'
