“Nae fears!” said Alexander M’Quhirr the younger, unabashed.  It is a constant wonder to his mother whom he takes after.  But it is no great wonder to me.  It had been indeed a greater wonderment to me that Alec should so readily promise to accompany the minister; for whenever either a policeman or a minister is seen within miles of Drumquhat, my lad takes the shortest cut for the fastnesses of Drumquhat Bank, there to lie like one of his hunted forebears of the persecution, till the clear buttons or the black coat have been carefully watched off the premises.

“The first place where the minister gaed,” continued my son, “was the clauchan o’ Milnthird.  He was gaun to see Leezie Scott, her that has been ill sae lang.  He gaed in there an’ bade a gey while, wi’ Airchie haudin’ ae side o’ the horse’s heid an’ me the ither—­no’ that auld Jess wad hae run away if ye had tied a kettle to her tail—­”

“Be mair circumspect in yer talk,” said his mother; “mind it’s a minister’s horse!”

“Weel, onyway, I could see through the wundy, an’ the lassie was haudin’ the minister’s haun’, an’ him speakin’ an’ lookin’ up at somebody that I didna see, but maybe the lassie did, for she lay back in her bed awfu’ thankfu’-like.  But her mither never thankit the minister ava’, juist turned her back an’ grat into her peenie.  Mr. Marchbanks cam’ oot; but I saw nae mair, for I had to turn an’ rin, or he wad hae seen me, an’ maybe askit me to hae a ride!”

“An’ what for wad ye no’ be prood to ride wi’ the godly man?” asked my wife.

“He micht ask me my quaistions, an’ though I’ve been lickit thirteen times for Effectual Callin’, I canna get mair nor half through wi’t. [’Yer faither’s wi’ ye there, laddie,’ said I, under my breath.] Gin Mr. Marchbanks wad aye look like what he did when he cam oot o’ Leezie Scott’s, I wadna rin for the heather when he comes.  Then he had a bit crack in twa-three o’ the hooses wi’ the auld wives that wasna at the wark, though he has nae mair members in the clauchan, them bein’ a’ Auld Kirkers.  But Mr. Marchbanks didna mind that, but ca’ed on them a’, an’ pat up a prayer standin’ wi’ his staff in his hand and wi’ his hair owre his shoother.”

“Hoo div ye ken?” I asked, curious to know how the boy had sketched the minister so exactly.

“I juist keekit ben, for I likit to see’t.”

“The assurance o’ the loon!” cried his mither, but not ill-pleased. (O these mothers!)

“Then we cam’ to the auld mill, an’ the minister gaed in to see blin’ Maggie Affleck, an’ when he cam’ oot I’m sure as daith that he left something that jingled on the kitchen table.  On the doorstep he says, wi’ a bricht face on him, ’Marget, it’s me that needs to thank you, for I get a lesson frae ye every time that I come here.’  Though hoo blind Mag Affleck can learn a minister wi’ lang white hair, is mair nor me or Airchie Marchbanks could mak’ oot.  Sae we gaed on, an’ the minister gied