Robert Falconer Part 69

'Do ye ken, grannie, what's at the hert o' my houps i' the meesery an'

degradation that I see frae mornin' to nicht, and aftener yet frae nicht to mornin' i' the back closes and wynds o' the great city?'

'I trust it's the glory o' G.o.d, laddie.'

'I houp that's no a'thegither wantin', grannie. For I love G.o.d wi' a' my hert. But I doobt it's aftener the savin' o' my earthly father nor the glory o' my heavenly ane that I'm thinkin' o'.'

Mrs. Falconer heaved a deep sigh.

'G.o.d grant ye success, Robert,' she said. 'But that canna be richt.'

'What canna be richt?'

'No to put the glory o' G.o.d first and foremost.'

'Weel, grannie; but a body canna rise to the heicht o' grace a' at ance, nor yet in ten, or twenty year. Maybe gin I do richt, I may be able to come to that or a' be dune. An' efter a', I'm sure I love G.o.d mair nor my father. But I canna help thinkin' this, that gin G.o.d heardna ae sang o' glory frae this ill-doin' earth o' his, he wadna be nane the waur; but--'

'Hoo ken ye that?' interrupted his grandmother.

'Because he wad be as gude and great and grand as ever.'

'Ow ay.'

'But what wad come o' my father wantin' his salvation? He can waur want that, remainin' the slave o' iniquity, than G.o.d can want his glory.

Forby, ye ken there's nae glory to G.o.d like the repentin' o' a sinner, justifeein' G.o.d, an' sayin' till him--"Father, ye're a' richt, an' I'm a' wrang." What greater glory can G.o.d hae nor that?'

'It's a' true 'at ye say. But still gin G.o.d cares for that same glory, ye oucht to think o' that first, afore even the salvation o' yer father.'

'Maybe ye're richt, grannie. An' gin it be as ye say--he's promised to lead us into a' trowth, an' he'll lead me into that trowth. But I'm thinkin' it's mair for oor sakes than his ain 'at he cares aboot his glory. I dinna believe 'at he thinks aboot his glory excep' for the sake o' the trowth an' men's herts deein' for want o' 't.'

Mrs. Falconer thought for a moment.

'It may be 'at ye're richt, laddie; but ye hae a way o' sayin' things 'at 's some fearsome.'

'G.o.d'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 G.o.d save in the face o' Christ Jesus.

Whatever 's no like Christ is no like G.o.d.'

'But, laddie, he cam to saitisfee G.o.d'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 G.o.d.'

'He did naething o' the kin', grannie. It's a' a lee that. He cam to saitisfee G.o.d's justice by giein' him back his bairns; by garrin' them see that G.o.d 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 G.o.d had curst aff o' the shoothers o' them 'at did them, by makin' them turn agen them, an' be for G.o.d an' no for sin. And there isna a word o' reconceelin' G.o.d 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 mult.i.tudes--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 vainis.h.i.+n' 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 I dinna 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 (superst.i.tions).'

'Weel, grannie, I haena the least a.s.surance. 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. I am 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 paint.i.t 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' the smilin' een o' him!--smilin' upon a'body, an' upo' her maist o' a', till he took to the drink, and waur gin waur can be. It was a' siller an'

company--company 'at cudna be merry ohn drunken. Verity their lauchter was like the cracklin' o' thorns aneath a pot. Het watter and whusky was aye the cry efter their denner an' efter their supper, till my puir Anerew tuik till the bare whusky i' the mornin' to fill the ebb o' the toddy. He wad never hae dune as he did but for the whusky. It jist drave oot a' gude and loot in a' ill.'

'Wull ye lat me tak this wi' me, grannie?' said Robert; for though the portrait was useless for identification, it might serve a further purpose.

'Ow, ay, tak it. I dinna want it. I can see him weel wantin' that. But I hae nae houp left 'at ye'll ever fa' in wi' him.'

'G.o.d's aye doin' unlikly things, grannie,' said Robert, solemnly.

'He's dune a' 'at he can for him, I doobt, already.'

'Duv ye think 'at G.o.d cudna save a man gin he liket, than, grannie?'

'G.o.d can do a'thing. There's nae doobt but by the gift o' his speerit he cud save a'body.'

'An' ye think he's no mercifu' eneuch to do 't?'

'It winna do to meddle wi' fowk's free wull. To gar fowk be gude wad be nae gudeness.'

'But gin G.o.d could actually create the free wull, dinna ye think he cud help it to gang richt, withoot ony garrin'? We ken sae little aboot it, grannie! Hoo does his speerit help onybody? Does he gar them 'at accep's the offer o' salvation?'

'Na, I canna think that. But he shaws them the trowth in sic a way that they jist canna bide themsel's, but maun turn to him for verra peace an'