There was no minister in the Kirk in the Vennel when Fergus Teeman came to Port Ryan.  The last one had got another kirk after fifteen years’ service, thirteen of which he had spent in fishing for just such a call as he got, being heartily tired of the miserable ways of his congregation.  When he received the invitation, he waited a week before he thought it would be decent to say, that perhaps he might have seriously to consider whether this were not a direct leading of Providence.  On the following Thursday he accepted.  On the Monday he left Port Ryan for ever, directing his meagre properties to be sent after him.  He shook his fist at the town as the train moved out.

So Fergus Teeman was just in time to come in for the new election, which seemed like a favouritism of Providence to a new man—­for, of course, he was put on the committee which was to choose the candidates.  Then there was a great preaching.  All the candidates stopped with Mr. Teeman.  This suited the Kirk in the Vennel, for it was a saving in expense.  It also suited Fergus Teeman, for it allowed him to sound them on all the subjects which interested him.  And, as he said, the expense was really a mere trifle, so long as one did not give them ham and eggs for their breakfast.  It is not good to preach on ham and eggs.  It spoils the voice.  Fergus Teeman had a cutting out of the Glasgow Weekly Flail, an able paper which is the Saturday Bible of those parts.  This extract said that Adelina Patti could not sing for five hours after ham and eggs.  It is just the same with preaching.  Fergus, therefore, read this to the candidates, and gave them for breakfast plain bread and butter (best Irish cooking, 6-1/2d. per pound).

Fergus was an orthodox man.  His first question was, “How long are you out of the college?” His next, “Were you under Professor Robertson?” His third, “Do ye haud wi’ hymn-singin’, street-preachin’, revival meetings, and novel-reading?”

From the answers to these questions Fergus Teeman formed his own short leet.  It was a very short one.  There was only the Rev. Farish Farintosh upon it.  He took “cent.-per-cent.” in the examination.  Some of the others made a point or two in their host’s estimation, but Farish Farintosh cleared the paper.  He was just out of college that very month—­which was true. (But he did not say that he had been detained a year or two, endeavouring to overcome the strange scruples of the Examination Board.) He had studied under Professor Robertson, and had frequently proved him wrong to his very face in the class, till the students could not keep from laughing (which, between ourselves, was a lie).  He was no hypocrite, advanced critic, or teetotaler, and would scorn to say he was. (He smelled Fergus Teeman’s breath.  He had been a staunch teetotaler at another vacancy the Saturday before.) He would not open a hymn-book for thirty pounds.  This was the very man for Fergus Teeman.  So they made a night of it, and consumed five “rake” of hot water.  Hot water is good for the preaching.