An' o' the fourth day, i' the efternoon, I gaed to my wark wi' my heid swimmin' and my hert like to brak for verra glaidness.

I _was_ ane o' the chosen.["] "But hoo did ye fin' that oot, Thomas ?" asked Annie, trembling.
"Weel, lassie," answered Thomas, with solemn conviction in every tone, "it's my firm belief that, say what they like, there is, and there can be, but _one_ way o' comin' to the knowledge o' that secret." "And what's that ?" entreated Annie, whose life seemed to hang upon his lips.
"Jist this.

Get a sicht o' the face o' God .-- It's my belief, an' a' the minnisters in creation'll no gar me alter my min', that no man can get a glimp' o' the face o' God but ane o' the chosen.

I'm no sayin' 'at a man's no ane o' the elec' that hasna had that favour vouchsaufed to _him_; but this I _do_ say, that he canna ken his election wi'oot that.
Try ye to get a sicht o' the face o' God, lassie: syne ye'll ken and be at peace.

Even Moses himsel' cudna be saitisfeed wi'oot that." "What is't like, Thomas ?" said Annie, with an eagerness which awe made very still.
"No words can tell that.