"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. I
wudna hae ye thank God ye're no a cobbler like me! Ye micht,
though, for it's little ye can ken o' the guid o' the callin'!"