“Here,” quoth she, “ here is a book he greatly prized himsel’.
This is a book he understood better than mony a minister. Ane
o’ his last requests wis that you should get it, for, he said, there
never wis onybody in his class could answer the questions like
you.”
I took the book and opened it, wi’ tears in my een, as ye may jaloose. It wis carefully interleaved, and bore written notes in a clear, roun’ han.’ When the mist cleared frae my een I saw it wis the “Confession of Faith and the Larger and Shorter Catechism’,’ bound in ane.
“Weel,” thinks I, “wis there ever a more providential bequest? It wis maist as wonnerfu’ as when my cousin, Jen Spreull, dee’t an’ left me the Trongate property.” Willie Warstle had puzzled me sair wi’ his questions, and my heart had nearly sunk within me; but the path o’ duty wis noo clear. My auld maister, David Whammond, had wrestled wi’ a’ the kittle points for a lifetime, and I wis sure that in his notes everything wud be made plain. I left the hoose o’ my deceased benefactor greatly strengthened, feeling that I had been providentially armed for the difficult task that lay before me.
