"Expound the Word," his father repeated solemnly; "the minister should
aye expound the passage. Tell the folk wha the prophet means."
Gordon turned a puzzled look on the page.
"Yon aboot the servant," his father explained; "the Suffering Servant,
ye ken--Him wha's face was marred wi' cruel men. Ye ken wha the
prophet's referrin' to, my son?"
Gordon understood. "I see what you mean," he answered slowly; "but I
don't know that I'm quite clear about that myself. The best
scholarship seems in doubt as to whether----"
But the old man was all on fire now. "I dinna' ken naethin' aboot yir
scholars," he broke in vehemently, "an' I dinna' care. But yon bit
refers to the Man o' Sorrows--ye ken that fine, div ye no'?--it's
Christ the prophet means--an' Him sufferin' for sin. Gordon, expound
the Word," and there was a stern grandeur about the pose and the voice
of this champion of the truth that would have done credit to the
ancient prophet himself.
"I cannot," said Gordon, his lips quite white; "not as you understand
it, father--it isn't clear to me."
"Then close the Buik," said the old man sternly; "if it's no' the
savour of life unto life, it'll be the savour o' death unto death."
And Gordon did. "You'll lead us in prayer, father," he said, his voice
so low we could hardly hear.
His father seemed to hesitate a moment, looking timidly around upon the
strangers. Then he slowly sank on his knees beside the chair, one hand
resting on Dorothy's golden curls; and in a moment the Presence seemed
about us. It was a wonderful prayer, and came as if out-breathed
beneath the very shadow of the Cross.
Our guests took their leave in silence. After the children were tucked
away I waited long up-stairs for Gordon; but I fell asleep at last, the
sound of earnest voices still floating upward from the study. I knew
it was a collision of the old school and the new--and I prayed on the
father's side.