“Woman,” said the minister, “we dinna want to hear—­”

“Very likely no—­but ye hae gien me permission to speak, an’ her that’s stannin afore yer honourable coort, brawly kens the laws.  Elspeth Mowdiewort didna soop yer kirk an wait till yer session meetings war ower for thirty year in my ain man’s time withoot kennin’ a’ the laws.  A keyhole’s a most amazin’ convenient thing by whiles, an’ I was suppler in gettin’ up aff my hunkers then than at the present time.”

“Silence, senseless woman!” said the session clerk.

“I’ll silence nane, Jacob Kittle; silence yersel’, for I ken what’s in the third volume o’ the kirk records at the thirty second page; an’ gin ye dinna haud yer wheesht, dominie, ilka wife in the pairish’ll ken as weel as me.  A bonny yin you to sit cockin’ there, an’ to be learnin’ a’ the bairns their caritches [catechism].”

The session let her go her way; her son meantime stood passing an apologetic hand over his sleek hair, and making deprecatory motions to the minister, when he thought that his mother was not looking in his direction.

“Aye, I was speakin’ aboot Creeshy Callum’s coffin that oor Saunders—­the muckle tongueless sumph there got dirt cheap—­ye see Greeshy had been measured for’t, but, as he had a short leg and a shorter, the joiner measured the wrang leg—­joiners are a’ dottle stupid bodies—­an’ whan the time cam’ for Creeshy to be streekit, man, he wadna fit—­na, it maun hae been a sair disappointment till him—­that is to say—­gin he war in the place whaur he could think wi’ ony content on his coffin, an’ that, judgin’ by his life an’ conversation, was far frae bein’ a certainty.”

“Mistress Mowdiewort, I hae aye respectit ye, an’ we are a’ willin’ to hear ye noo, if you have onything to say for your son, but you must make no insinuations against any members of the court, or I shall be compelled to call the officer to put you out,” said the minister, rising impressively with his hand stretched towards Mistress Elspeth Mowdiewort.

But Elspeth Mowdiewort was far from being impressed.

“Pit me oot, Snuffy Oallum; pit me, Eppie Mowdiewort, oot!  Na, na, Snuffy’s maybe no very wise, but he kens better nor that.  Man, Maister Teends, I hae kenned the hale root an’ stock o’ thae Callums frae first to last; I hae dung Greeshy till he couldna stand—­him that had to be twice fitted for his coffin; an’ Wull that was hangit at Dumfries for sheep-stealin’; an’ Meg that was servant till yersel—­aye, an’ a bonny piece she was as ye ken yersel’; an’ this auld donnert carle that, when he carries up the Bibles, ye can hear the rattlin’ o’ his banes, till it disturbs the congregation—­I hae dung them a’ heeds ower heels in their best days—­an’ to tell me at the hinner end that ye wad ca’ in the betheral to pit oot Elspeth Mowdiewort!  Ye maun surely hae an awsome ill wull at the puir auld craitur!”

“Mither,” at last said Saunders, who was becoming anxious for his grave-diggership, and did not wish to incense his judges further, “I’m willin’ to confess that I had a drap ower muckle the ither night when I met in wi’ the minister an’ the dominie; but, gin I confess it, ye’ll no gar me sit on the muckle black stool i’ repentance afore a’ the fowk, an’ me carries up the buiks i’ the Marrow kirk.”