“And what said he, Andrew?” I asked.  “Was he pitten aboot?”

“Wha?  Him!  Na, no’ a hair.  He juist said, in his heartsome, joky way, ‘I’m no’ in the habit o’ consulting my congregation how I shall dress myself; but if you, Mr. M’Quhirr, will supply me with a black broadcloth suit free of charge, I’ll see aboot wearin’ it!’ says he.  So I said nae mair.

“But did you hear what Jess Loan, the scaffie’s wife, said to him when he gaed in to bapteeze her bairn when he wasna in his blacks?  She hummered a while, an’ then she says, ’Maister Stark, I ken ye’re an ordeened man, for I was there whan a’ the ministers pat their han’s on yer heid, an’ you hunkerin’ on the cushion—­but I hae my feelin’s!”

“‘Your feelings, Mrs. Loan?’ says the minister, thinking it was some interestin’ case o’ personal experience he was to hear.

“‘Ay,’ says Jess; ’if it was only as muckle as a white tie I wadna mind, but even a scaffie’s wean wad be the better o’ that muckle!’

“So Maister Stark said never a word, but he gaed his ways hame, pat on his blacks, brocht his goun an’ bands aneath his airm, and there never was sic a christenin’ in Cairn Edward as Jess Loan’s bairn gat!”

“How does he draw wi’ his fowk, Andra?” I asked, for the “Martyrs” were far from being used to work of this kind.

“Oh, verra weel,” said the draper; “but he stoppit Tammas Affleck and John Peartree frae prayin’ twenty meenits a-piece at the prayer-meetin’.  ‘The publican’s prayer didna last twa ticks o’ the clock, an’ you’re not likely to better that even in twenty meenits!’ says he.  It was thocht that they wad leave, but weel do they ken that nae ither kirk wad elect them elders, an’ they’re baith fell fond o’ airin’ their waistcoats at the plate.

“Some o’ them was sore against him ridin’ on a bicycle, till John Peartree’s grandson coupit oot o’ the cart on the day o’ the Sabbath-schule trip, an’ the minister had the doctor up in seventeen minutes by the clock.  There was a great cry in the pairish because he rade doon on ‘t to assist Maister Forbes at the Pits wi’ his communion ae Sabbath nicht.  But, says the minister, when some o’ the Session took it on them to tairge him for it, ’Gin I had driven, eyther man or beast wad hae lost their Sabbath rest.  I tired nocht but my own legs,’ says he.  ’It helps me to get to the hoose of God, just like your Sunday boots.  Come barefit to the kirk, and I’ll consider the maitter again.’”

“That minister preaches the feck o’ his best sermons oot o’ the pulpit,” said I, as I bade Andrew good-day and went back into the High Street, from which the folk were beginning to scatter.  The farmers were yoking their gigs and mounting into them in varying degrees and angles of sobriety.  So I took my way to the King’s Arms, and got my beast into the shafts.  Half a mile up the Dullarg road, who should I fall in with but “Drucken” Bourtree, the quarryman.  He was walking as steady as the Cairn Edward policeman when the inspector is in the town.  I took him up.