For mony a year I kent mair aboot the hill-side nor the ingle-neuk.

But it's the same God an' Father upo' the hill-side an' i' the king's pailace." "An' ye'll ken a' aboot the win', an' the cloods, an' the w'ys o' God ootside the hoose! I ken something hoo he hauds things gaein' inside the hoose--in a body's hert, I mean--in mine an' Doory's there, but I ken little aboot the w'y he gars things work 'at he's no sae far ben in." "Ye dinna surely think God fillsna a'thing ?" exclaimed Donal.
"Na, na; I ken better nor that," answered the cobbler; "but ye maun alloo a tod's hole 's no sae deep as the thro't o' a burnin' m'untain! God himsel' canna win sae far ben in a shallow place as in a deep place; he canna be sae far ben i' the win's, though he gars them du as he likes, as he is, or sud be, i' your hert an' mine, sir!" "I see!" responded Donal.

"Could that hae been hoo the Lord had to rebuke the win's an' the wawves, as gien they had been gaein' at their ain free wull, i'stead o' the wull o' him 'at made them an' set them gaein' ?" "Maybe; but I wud hae to think aboot it 'afore I answert," replied the cobbler.
A silence intervened.

Then said Andrew, thoughtfully, "I thoucht, when I saw ye first, ye was maybe a lad frae a shop i' the muckle toon--or a clerk, as they ca' them, 'at sits makin' up accoonts." "Na, I'm no that, I thank God," said Donal.
"What for thank ye God for that ?" asked Andrew.

"A' place is his.