And, moreover, there was a lass at the Cameronian kirk, a daughter of
the Arkland grieve, whose curls he rather liked to see in the seat
before him. He had known her when he went to the neighbouring farm to
harvest--for in that lowland district the corn was all cut and led,
before it was time to begin it on the scanty upland crop which was
gathered into the barns of Drumquhat. Luckily, she sat in a line with
the minister; and when she was there, two sermons on end were not too
long.


II. THE ROAD TO THE KIRK

The clean red farm-cart rattled into the town of Cairn Edward at five
minutes past eleven. The burghers looked up and said, "Hoo is the
clock?" Some of them went so far as to correct any discrepancy in their
time-keepers, for all the world knew that the Drumquhat cart was not a
moment too soon or too late, so long as Saunders had the driving of it.
Times had not been too good of late; and for some years--indeed, ever
since the imposition of the tax on light-wheeled vehicles--the
"tax-cart" had slumbered wheelless in the back of the peat-shed, and the
Drumquhat folk had driven a well-cleaned, heavy-wheeled red cart both to
kirk and market. But they were respected in spite of their want of that
admirable local certificate of character, "He is a respectable man. He
keeps a gig." One good man in Whinnyliggate says to this day that he
had an excellent upbringing. He was brought up by his parents to fear
God and respect the Drumquhat folks!

Walter generally went to church now, ever since his granny had tired of
conveying him to the back field overlooking the valley of the Black