I ventured to address him, for in that horrid place he had a welcome air of sobriety and sense.
He asked me for my story, and when he heard it looked curiously at Muckle John, who was now reciting gibberish in a corner.
"So that is the man Gib," he said musingly.

"I have heard tell of him, for he was a thorn in the flesh of blessed Mr.Cargill.Often have I heard him repeat how he went to Gib in the moors to reason with him in the Lord's name, and got nothing but a mouthful of devilish blasphemies.

He is without doubt a child of Belial, as much as any proud persecutor.

Woe is the Kirk, when her foes shall be of her own household, for it is with the words of the Gospel that he seeks to overthrow the Gospel work.

And how is it with you, my son?
Do you seek to add your testimony to the sweet savour which now ascends from moors, mosses, peat-bogs, closes, kennels, prisons, dungeons, ay, and scaffolds in this distressed land of Scotland?
You have not told me your name." When he heard it he asked for my father, whom he had known in old days at Edinburgh College.