And syne whan the pain cam' back wi' a terrible stoon, I jist amaist leuch; an I thoucht that gin he wad brack me a' to bits, I wad never cry _haud_, nor turn my finger to gar him stent.

Noo, ye're ane o' the Lord's bairns--" "Eh! I dinna ken," cried Annie, half-terrified at such an assurance from Thomas, and the responsibility devolved on her thereby, and yet delighted beyond expression.
"Ay are ye," continued Thomas confidently; "and I want to ken what ye think aboot it.

Do ye think it was a wrang thocht to come into my heid ?" "Hoo could that be, Thomas, whan it set ye a singin'-- and sic a psalm--'O that men would praise the Lord for his goodness ?'" "The Lord be praised ance mair!" exclaimed Thomas.

"'Oot o' the mooth o' babes and sucklin's!'-- no that ye're jist that, Annie, but ye're no muckle mair.

Sit ye doon aside me, and rax ower to the Bible, and jist read that hunner and saivent psalm.