To Gavin, who never before had seen a score of people in the square at once, here was a sight strange and terrible.  Andrew Struthers, an old soldier, stood on the outside stair of the town-house, shouting words of command to some fifty weavers, many of them scantily clad, but all armed with pikes and poles.  Most were known to the little minister, but they wore faces that were new to him.  Newcomers joined the body every moment.  If the drill was clumsy the men were fierce.  Hundreds of people gathered around, some screaming, some shaking their fists at the old soldier, many trying to pluck their relatives out of danger.  Gavin could not see the Egyptian.  Women and old men, fighting for the possession of his ear, implored him to disperse the armed band.  He ran up the town-house stair, and in a moment it had become a pulpit.

“Dinna dare to interfere, Mr. Dishart,” Struthers said savagely.

“Andrew Struthers,” said Gavin solemnly, “in the name of God I order you to leave me alone.  If you don’t,” he added ferociously, “I’ll fling you over the stair.”

“Dinna heed him, Andrew,” some one shouted and another cried, “He canna understand our sufferings; he has dinner ilka day.”

Struthers faltered, however, and Gavin cast his eye over the armed men.

“Rob Dow,” he said, “William Carmichael, Thomas Whamond, William Munn, Alexander Hobart, Henders Haggart, step forward.”

These were Auld Lichts, and when they found that the minister would not take his eyes off them, they obeyed, all save Rob Dow.

“Never mind him, Rob,” said the atheist, Cruickshanks, “it’s better playing cards in hell than singing psalms in heaven.”

“Joseph Cruickshanks,” responded Gavin grimly, “you will find no cards down there.”

Then Rob also came to the foot of the stair.  There was some angry muttering from the crowd, and young Charles Yuill exclaimed, “Curse you, would you lord it ower us on week-days as weel as on Sabbaths?”

“Lay down your weapons,” Gavin said to the six men.

They looked at each other.  Hobart slipped his pike behind his back.

“I hae no weapon,” he said slily.

“Let me hae my fling this nicht,” Dow entreated, “and I’ll promise to bide sober for a twelvemonth.”

“Oh, Rob, Rob!” the minister said bitterly, “are you the man I prayed with a few hours ago?”

The scythe fell from Rob’s hands.

“Down wi’ your pikes,” he roared to his companions, “or I’ll brain you wi’ them.”

“Ay, lay them down,” the precentor whispered, “but keep your feet on them.”

Then the minister, who was shaking with excitement, though he did not know it, stretched forth his arms for silence, and it came so suddenly as to frighten the people in the neighboring streets.

“If he prays we’re done for,” cried young Charles Yuill. but even in that hour many of the people were unbonneted.