"'Div ye no' ken,' he says to me, 'aboot Dauvit, the sweet singer o' Israel--how he played a' kinds o' instruments i' the Lord's hoose?' He thocht he had me. But I gied him as guid as he brocht. What think ye I answered him?"
"I really have no idea," said Mr. Blake. "What was it?"
"'Div ye think,' says I, lookin' fair at him, 'div ye think I tak Dauvit for a paittern?'--and it did for him. 'I'll hae to be gaein',' says he, 'I hae a funeral.' 'Aye,' says I, 'ye'd better hae a funeral'--an' we haena spoken to ane anither since."
"That's a pity," said Mr. Blake, "it seems too bad that the soul's interests should suffer because of a matter of that kind. Of course," he continued, "I don't say that a man may not be religious because he doesn't go to church. Men may scorn the bridge and still get across the river, but they would have got along better by the bridge."
"I dinna ken aboot the brig," said the other, "that isna to the point,"--for he was not of a metaphorical turn of mind--"but I've nae doot aboot bein' religious. A man in my walk o' life, in my business, ye ken, canna weel help bein' religious. He's the same as the Apostle Paul."
"What?" said Mr. Blake, "are you a tent-maker?"
"Na, na, certainly not; there's nane o' them nowadays. A man in my callin' doesna _do_ the same as Paul, but he can _say_ the same, ye see. I can say wi' Paul: 'Death to me is great gain'--I'm an undertaker, ye ken."
"An undertaker," exclaimed his listener, unconsciously pushing back his chair, shocked at the gruesome humour. Besides, the man was looking at him with something like a professional eye, as if making an estimate of time, and space.
"Aye," responded he of the apostolic claim, "I'm an undertaker--but times is dull. I was an undertaker ten year in Lockerby, but I left there lang syne. I had ae fine customer, the bailie; he had eleven o' a family. But I lost his trade. The bailie was sick--an' my laddie, wee Sandy, was aye plaguin' me for a sled. I tell't him I'd get him ane when I had mair siller. Weel, wee Sandy was aye rinnin' ower to the hoose an' askin' aboot the bailie. 'Twas nat'ral eneuch; the laddie meant nae harm, but he wanted his sled afore the snaw was gone. Ony way, they tuk offense."