I was passing by the Lamonts’ house one afternoon, and as Robina was working in her garden I stopped for a chat.  After asking after her mother and things in general, the conversation turned on Bildy.  Robina praised him highly.

“He’s as biddable as a bairn,” she declared.  “He carries a’ the water for us frae the spring, an’ takes oot the coo, an’ fetches her hame as weel as I could masel’.  He’s nae tribble to us whateever!”

She then launched into details concerning Bildy which were very entertaining, and gave much amusement to Val over our dinner.  It appeared that the poor fellow had formed a most reverential opinion of the priest on his first visit to our church for Mass.  On his return home he sat by the fire smiling delightedly and murmuring to himself.  They did not catch what he said, but after repeated questioning Robina found that he was quite pleased with the “chapel.”

“An’ yon mon!” he exclaimed.  “Isna’ he dressed fine?  Wha’s yon mon wi’ the fine dress?”

“Yen’s the priest,” explained Robina.  “Father Fleming, he’s callit.”

“Father Fleming!  Father Fleming!” repeated Bildy over and over again, as though to familiarize himself with the sound of it.

“Aye, aye!  He’s the boy!  He can gab, canna’ he?  He’s the boy to tell us what to dee!” he continued in his broad Scots.

“It’s extraordinary how well he behaves at Mass—­or at any rate during the sermon,” said Val when he heard the story.  “I wish some others were as good!”

That reminded me of another anecdote.  After one or two Sundays, Bildy had got familiar with the church, and was inclined to gaze about more than Robina approved of.  She therefore took it upon herself to instruct him upon the sacred character of the place, and to threaten to keep him at home if he did not behave better.

“Remember, Bildy,” she said as they started next Sunday, “it’s the hoose o’ God ye’re goin’ tee.  Ye musna’ glower aboot!  Juist sit ye still an’ look straicht at Father Fleming a’ the time.”

After that his manner was irreproachable.  But one Sunday, as Penny was leaving the church after Mass, she caught sight of Bildy furiously shaking his fist—­at her, she thought!  So she mentioned the fact quietly to Robina, who promised to investigate the matter.  It turned out that poor Bildy had so thoroughly assimilated her instructions as to the requisite behavior in church that he had been silently reproving what he thought irreverence.  He had seen a crofter whom he knew very well dozing during the sermon, and had “wagged his fist” at him—­righteously indignant.

“Sleepin’ i’ the hoose o’ God!” cried Bildy.  “Yon’s nae the place to sleep in!  I waggit my fist, an’ I sair fleggit him!”

Bildy evidently congratulated himself on having so successfully “sore frighted” the delinquent that he would never dare to behave so badly again.

Bildy’s respect for Val never waned.  He never caught sight of the priest, even at some little distance, but his hand flew up to his cap in salutation, and remained there until Val had seen him and had returned his salute.  This would happen if he saw Val at a window of our house just the same as when outside.