“ Oh, but do you believe it ? ” says he.
“ No,” says I; “ that’s a doonricht Popish doctrine. What gars ye speir sic a daft-like question? Ye’ll no’ fin’ that i’ the Question Book.”
“ No,” says he ; “ but it’s in the Confession of Faith. Listen. Ye’ll get it in the 30th chapter: ‘To these officers’—meaning John Smallwares and other elders—‘the keys of the kingdom of heaven are committed, by virtue whereof they have power, respectively, to retain and remit sins.’ ”
The laddie stoppit, and lookit earnestly in my face for a reply, while I took the book frae his han’, put on my glesses an’ examined at the passage for mysel’. It wis a gey puzzlin’ statement, I alloo, but surely it could be explained awa’, or the meenisters wudna bide by it.
“ Willie,’’ quoth I, “ ye maunna fash yer thoom wi the Confession o’ Faith the noo; it’s ower deep for young callantslike you. When ye’ve maistered the Shorter Catechism, and win into the Divinity Hall, ye ’ll understand it better. Meantime keep by the Shorter Catechism and lea’ the Confession o’ Faith alane.”
Weel, just as I wis thinkin’ aboot the maitter next day, my servant-wumman cam’ in and put a letter in my hand wi’ a broad black margin. It announced the death, the day before, o’ David Whammond, my auld Sabbath schule teacher. David wis a heddlemaker to trade, a plain, earnest man, who gathered aboot him a lairge class o’ young women in the schuleroom, in Shuttle Street, no’ far frae Mr. Whangy’s tanyard. David Whammond and Janies Reid, the gingham weaver, aye gaedto the class thegither. David did the speaking maistly, while his frien’ led the singin’. It wis nae uncommon thing, hooever, for James Reid to stop David in his remarks, and put in either a correction or something that he thought suitable to say on
