He had not gone far when he came to a dip in the moorland--a round
hollow, with a cottage of turf in the middle of it, from whose
chimney came a little smoke: there too the day was begun! He was
glad he had not seen it before, for then he might have missed the
repose of the open night. At the door stood a little girl in a blue
frock. She saw him, and ran in. He went down and drew near to the
door. It stood wide open, and he could not help seeing in.
A man sat at the table in the middle of the floor, his forehead on
his hand. Donal did not see his face. He seemed waiting, like his
father for the Book, while his mother got it from the top of the
wall. He stepped over the threshold, and in the simplicity of his
heart, said:--
"Ye'll be gaein' to hae worship!"
"Na, na!" returned the man, raising his head, and taking a brief,
hard stare at his visitor; "we dinna set up for prayin' fowk i' this
hoose." We ley that to them 'at kens what they hae to be thankfu'
for."
"I made a mistak," said Donal. "I thoucht ye micht hae been gaein'
to say gude mornin' to yer makker, an' wad hae likit to j'in wi' ye;
for I kenna what I haena to be thankfu' for. Guid day to ye."
"Ye can bide an' tak yer parritch gien ye like."
"Ow, na, I thank ye. Ye micht think I cam for the parritch, an' no
for the prayers. I like as ill to be coontit a hypocrite as gien I
war ane.
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