“What was Mr. Perrowne preaching on, Marjorie?” asked Mrs. Carruthers.

“Pillows on the ground,” replied that young person.

Her cousin laughed, and came to the rescue, saying:  “It was the Church, the pillar and ground of the truth; Marjorie seems to associate all English Church services with bedtime.”

“There wasn’t much bedtime about the service this morning,” interposed the lawyer; “the parson rattled along in grand style, and gave Miss Carmichael, and all other broken reeds of dissenters, some piping hot Durham mustard.  Did it sting, Miss Carmichael?”

“Is that the effect mustard has on broken reeds, Mr. Coristine?”

“It is rather a mixing of metaphors, but you must make allowance for an Irishman.”

Mrs. Carruthers at once conversed with her countryman, or rather her father’s countryman, on Ireland, its woes and prospects, during which Marjorie informed Mr. Errol that she had not known what made her cousin’s cheeks so red when looking on Eugene’s prayer-book.  Now she knew; it was Durham mustard that stings.  There must have been some in the book.  The victim of these remarks looked severely at the culprit, but all in vain; she was not to be suppressed with a frown.  She remarked that Saul had a hymn-book that made you sneeze, and she asked him why, and he said it was the snuff.

“What did Eugene put mustard in his prayer-book for?”

“Mr. Coristine didna say he put mustard in his bookie, Marjorie,” said the minister; “he said that Mr. Perrowne put mustard in his sermon, because it was so fiery.”

“I don’t like mustard sermons; I like stories.”

“Aye, we all like them, when they’re good stories and well told, but it’s no easy work getting good stories.  That was the way our Saviour taught the people, and you couldna get a higher example.”

“Why have we hardly any of that kind of teaching now?” asked Miss Carmichael.

“Because the preachers are afraid for one thing, and lazy, for another.  They’re afraid of the most ignorant folk in their congregation, who will be sure to charge them with childishness and a contempt for the intellect of their people.  Then, it takes very wide and varied reading to discover suitable stories that will point a Scripture moral.”

“You seem to be on gude solid releegious groond doon there, meenister,” interrupted the master of the house; “but Miss Du Plessis and Mrs. Carmichael here are just corruptin’ the minds o’ Maister Wilkinson and Maister Nash wi’ the maist un-Sawbath like havers I ever hard at an elder’s table.  We had better rise, gudewife!”