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MacDonald, George, 1824-1905

"Salted with Fire"

As his daily work was ministration to the
weary feet of his Master's men, so was his soul ever awake to their sorrows
and spiritual necessities.
"There's a haill warl' o' bonny wark aboot me!" he would say. "I hae but to
lay my han' to what's neist me, and it's sure to be something that wants
deein! I'm clean ashamt sometimes, whan I wauk up i' the mornin, to fin'
mysel deein naething!"
Every evening while the summer lasted, he would go out alone for a walk,
generally toward a certain wood nigh the town; for there lay, although it
was of no great extent, and its trees were small, a probability of escaping
for a few moments from the eyes of men, and the chance of certain of
another breed showing themselves.
"No that," he once said to Maggie, "I ever cared vera muckle aboot the
angels: it's the man, the perfec man, wha was there wi' the Father afore
ever an angel was h'ard tell o', that sen's me upo my knees! Whan I see a
man that but minds me o' _Him_, my hert rises wi' a loup, as gien it wad
'maist lea' my body ahint it.


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