One day, David heard that a poor old man of his acquaintance was dying, and immediately set out to visit him, at a distance of two or three miles.  He returned in the evening, only in time for his studies; for there was of course little or nothing to be done at present in the way of labour.  As he sat down to the table, he said: 

“I hae seen a wonnerfu’ sicht sin’ I saw you, Mr. Sutherlan’.  I gaed to see an auld Christian, whase body an’ brain are nigh worn oot.  He was never onything remarkable for intellec, and jist took what the minister tellt him for true, an’ keepit the guid o’t; for his hert was aye richt, an’ his faith a hantle stronger than maybe it had ony richt to be, accordin’ to his ain opingans; but, hech! there’s something far better nor his opingans i’ the hert o’ ilka God-fearin’ body.  Whan I gaed butt the hoose, he was sittin’ in’s auld arm-chair by the side o’ the fire, an’ his face luikit dazed like.  There was no licht in’t but what cam’ noo an’ than frae a low i’ the fire.  The snaw was driftin’ a wee aboot the bit winnock, an’ his auld een was fixed upo’t; an’ a’ ‘at he said, takin’ no notice o’ me, was jist, ‘The birdies is flutterin’; the birdies is flutterin’.’  I spak’ till him, an’ tried to roose him, wi’ ae thing after anither, bit I micht as weel hae spoken to the door-cheek, for a’ the notice that he took.  Never a word he spak’, but aye ’The birdies is flutterin’.’  At last, it cam’ to my min’ ’at the body was aye fu’ o’ ane o’ the psalms in particler; an’ sae I jist said till him at last:  ‘John, hae ye forgotten the twenty-third psalm?’ ‘Forgotten the twenty-third psalm!’ quo’ he; an’ his face lighted up in a moment frae the inside:  ‘The Lord’s my shepherd,—­an’ I hae followed Him through a’ the smorin’ drift o’ the warl’, an’ he’ll bring me to the green pastures an’ the still waters o’ His summer-kingdom at the lang last.  I shall not want.  An’ I hae wanted for naething, naething.’  He had been a shepherd himsel’ in’s young days.  And so on he gaed, wi’ a kin’ o’ a personal commentary on the haill psalm frae beginnin’ to en’, and syne he jist fell back into the auld croonin’ sang, ‘The birdies is flutterin’; the birdies is flutterin’.’  The licht deed oot o’ his face, an’ a’ that I could say could na’ bring back the licht to his face, nor the sense to his tongue.  He’ll sune be in a better warl’.  Sae I was jist forced to leave him.  But I promised his dochter, puir body, that I would ca’ again an’ see him the morn’s afternoon.  It’s unco dowie wark for her; for they hae scarce a neebor within reach o’ them, in case o’ a change; an’ there had hardly been a creatur’ inside o’ their door for a week.”