"Ye hae na forgotten, mither, the fricht that was on me that nicht."

"Never," said Marget, "and never can; it's hard wark for me to keep
frae hating that man, dead or alive. Geordie gripped me wi' baith
his wee airms round my neck, and he cries over and over and over
again, 'Is yon God?'"

"Ay, and ye kissed me, mither, and ye said (it's like yesterday),
'Yir safe with me,' and ye telt me that God micht punish me to mak
me better if I was bad, but that he wud never torture ony puir soul,
for that cud dae nae guid, and was the Devil's wark. Ye asked me:

"'Am I a guid mother tae ye?' and when I could dae naethin' but
hold, ye said, 'Be sure God maun be a hantle kinder.'

"The truth came to me as with a flicker, and I cuddled down into my
bed, and fell asleep in His love as in my mother's arms.

"Mither," and George lifted up his head, "that was my conversion,
and, mither dear, I hae longed a' thro' thae college studies for the
day when ma mooth wud be opened wi' this evangel."

Marget's was an old-fashioned garden, with pinks and daisies and
forget-me-nots, with sweet-scented wall-flower and thyme and moss
roses, where nature had her way, and gracious thoughts could visit
one without any jarring note. As George's voice softened to the
close, I caught her saying, "His servants shall see His face," and
the peace of Paradise fell upon us in the shadow of death.