“Ye see, sir,” began the Object, “I am Seemion Gleg, an’ I am ettlin’ to be a minister.”

The Reverend Robert Ford Buchanan started.  He came of a Levitical family, and over his head there were a series of portraits of very dignified gentlemen in extensive white neckerchiefs, his forebears and predecessors in honourable office—­a knee-breeched, lace-ruffled moderator among them.

It was as if a Prince of the Blood had listened to some rudely democratic speech from a waif of the causeway.

“A minister!” he exclaimed.  Then, as a thought flashed across him—­“Oh, a Dissenting preacher!” he continued.

This would explain matters.

“Na, na,” said Simeon Gleg; “nae Dissenter ava’.  I’m for the Kirk itsel’—­the Auld Kirk or naething.  That was the way my mither brocht me up.  An’ I want to learn Greek an’ Laitin.  I hae plenty o’ spare time, an’ my maister gies me a’ the forenichts.  I can learn at the peat fire after the ither men are gane to their beds.”

“Your master!” said the minister.  “Do you mean your teacher?”

“Na, na,” said Simeon Gleg; “I mean Maister Golder o’ the Glaisters.  I serve there as plooman!”

“You!” exclaimed the minister, aghast.  “How old may you be?”

“I’m gaun in my nineteenth year,” said Simeon.  “I’m no’ big for my age, I ken; but I can throw ony man that I get grups on, and haud ony beast whatsomever.  I can ploo wi’ the best an’ maw—­Weel, I’m no’ gaun to brag, but ye can ask Maister Golder—­that is an elder o’ your ain, an’ comes at least twa Sabbaths afore every Communion to hear ye.”

“But why do ye want to learn Greek and Latin?” queried the minister.

“Weel, ye see, sir,” said Simeon Gleg, leaning forward to poke the manse fire with the toe of his stocking—­the minister watching with interest to see if he could do it without burning the wool—­“I hae saved twunty pounds, and I thocht o’ layin’ it oot on the improvement o’ my mind.  It’s a heap o’ money, I ken; but, then, my mind needs a feck o’ impruvement—­if ye but kenned hoo ignorant I am, ye wadna wonder.  Ay, ay”—­taking, as it were, a survey of the whole ground—­“my mind will stand a deal o’ impruvement.  It’s gey rough, whinny grund, and has never been turned owre.  But I was thinkin’ Enbra wad gie it a rare bit lift.  What do ye think o’ the professors there?  I was hearin’ some o’ them wasna thocht muckle o’!”

The minister moved a little uneasily in his chair, and settled his circular collar.

“Well,” he said, “they are able men—­most of them.”

He was a cautious minister.

“Dod, an’ I’m gled to hear ye sayin’ that.  It’s a relief to my mind,” said Simeon Gleg.  “I dinna want to fling my twunty pound into the mill-dam.”

“But I understood you to say,” went on the minister, “that you intended to enter the ministry of the Kirk.”

“Ou ay, that’s nae dout my ettlin’.  But that’s a lang gate to gang, an’ in the meantime my object in gaun to the college is juist the cultivation o’ my mind.”