“Ye dinna mind, do ye, John, what we did that nicht?  No?  Weel, then, we fetched ye the water that ye were aye compleenin’ that ye had naebody to carry for ye.  Twa cans fu’ we carried—­an’ we proppit them baith against your door wi’ a bit brick ahint them.  Ay, just that very door there.  Then we gied a great ‘rammer’ on the panels, an’ ye cam’ geyan fast to catch us.  But as ye opened the door, baith the cans fell into the hoose, an’ ye could hae catched bairdies an’ young puddocks on the hearthstane.  Weel, ye got me in the coachbuilder’s entry, an’ I’ve no’ forgotten the bit circumstance, gin ye have.

“Ill-wull?  Na, John, the verra best of guid-wull, for ye made better boys o’ us for the verra fear o’ yer stick.  As ye say, the ministers are no’ what they used to be when you and me were sae pack.  A minister was a graun’ man then, wi’ a presence, an’ a necktie that took a guid half-yard o’ seeventeen-hunner linen.  I’m a minister mysel’, ye ken, John, but I’m weel aware I’m an unco declension.  Ye wad like to hear me preach?  Noo, that’s rale kind o’ ye, John.  But ye’ll be snuggest at your ain fireside, an’ I’ll come in, an’ we’ll e’en hae a draw o’ the pipe atween sermons.  Na, I dinna wunner that ye canna thole to think on the new kirk-officer, mairchin’ in afore the minister, an ‘s gouns an’ a’ sic capers.  They wadna hae gotten you to do the like.

“Ye mind, John, hoo ye heartened me up when I was feared to speak for the first time in the auld pulpit?  ‘Keep yer heid up,’ ye said, ‘an’ speak to the gallery.  Never heed the folk on the floor.  Dinna be feared; in a time or twa ye’ll be nae mair nervish than mysel’.  Weel do I mind when I first took up the buiks, I could hardly open the door for shakin’, but noo I’m naewise discomposed wi’ the hale service.’

“Ay, it is queer to come back to the auld place efter sae mony year in Glesca.  You’ve never been in Glesca, John?  No; I’ll uphaud that there’s no’ yer match amang a’ the beadles o’ that toun—­no’ in yer best days, when ye handed up yer snuff-box to Maister M’Sneesh o’ Balmawhapple in the collectin’ ladle, when ye saw that he was sore pitten til’t for a snuff.  Or when ye said to Jamieson o’ Penpoint, wee crowl o’ a body—­

“‘I hae pitten in the fitstool an’ drappit the bookboard, to gie ye every advantage.  So see an’ mak’ the best o’t.’

“Ay, John, ye war a man!  Ye never said that last, ye say, John?  They lee’d on ye, did they?  Weel, I dootna that there was mony a thing pitten doon to ye that was behadden to the makkar.  But they never could mak’ ye onything but oor ain kindly, thrawn, obstinate auld John, wi’ a hand like a bacon ham and a heart like a bairn’s.  Guid-day to ye, John.  There’s something on the mantelpiece to pit in the tea-caddy.  I’ll look in the morn, an’ we’ll hae oor smoke.”

VI

EUROCLYDON OF THE RED HEAD

  There’s a leaf in the book of the damask rose
        That glows with a tender red;
  From the bud, through the bloom, to the dust it goes,
        Into rose dust fragrant and dead.