"Cud ye ... pit up a bit prayer, Paitrick?"

"A' haena the words," said Drumsheugh in great distress; "wud ye like's
tae send for the minister?"

"It's no the time for that noo, an' a' wud rather hae yersel'--juist
what's in yir heart, Paitrick: the Almichty 'ill ken the lave (rest)
Himsel'."

So Drumsheugh knelt and prayed with many pauses.

"Almichty God ... dinna be hard on Weelum MacLure, for he's no been hard
wi' onybody in Drumtochty.... Be kind tae him as he's been tae us a' for
forty year.... We're a' sinners afore Thee.... Forgive him what he's
dune wrang, an' dinna cuist it up tae him.... Mind the fouk he's helpit
.... the wee-men an' bairnies.... an' gie him a welcome hame, for he's
sair needin't after a' his wark.... Amen."

"Thank ye, Paitrick, and gude nicht tae ye. Ma ain true freend, gie's
yir hand, for a'll maybe no ken ye again.

"Noo a'll say ma mither's prayer and hae a sleep, but ye 'ill no leave
me till a' is ower."

Then he repeated as he had done every night of his life:

"This night I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
And if I die before I wake,