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.'
'God'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 God cudna save a man gin he liket, than, grannie?'
'God 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 he gude wad be nae gudeness.'
'But gin God 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' rist.'
'Weel, that's something as I think.An' until I'm sure that a man has had the trowth shawn till him in sic a way 's that, I canna alloo mysel' to think that hooever he may hae sinned, he has finally rejeckit the trowth.Gin I kent that a man had seen the trowth as Ihae seen 't whiles, and had deleeberately turned his back upo' 't and said, "I'll nane o' 't," than I doobt I wad be maist compelled to alloo that there was nae mair salvation for him, but a certain and fearfu' luikin' for o' judgment and fiery indignation.But Idinna believe that ever man did sae.But even than, I dinna ken.'
'I did a' for him that I kent hoo 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 man can do wantin' a father? Human bein' canna win at the hert o' things, canna ken a'
the oots an' ins, a' the sides o' love, excep' he has a father amo'
the lave to love; an' I hae had nane, grannie.An' that God kens.'
She made him no answer.She dared not say that he expected too much from God.Is it likely that Jesus will say so of any man or woman when he looks for faith in the earth?
Robert went out to see some of his old friends, and when he returned it was time for supper and worship.These were the same as of old:
a plate of porridge, and a wooden bowl of milk for the former; a chapter and a hymn, both read, and a prayer from grannie, and then from Robert for the latter.And so they went to bed.
But Robert could not sleep.He rose and dressed himself, went up to the empty garret, looked at the stars through the skylight, knelt and prayed for his father and for all men to the Father of all, then softly descended the stairs, and went out into the street.
