she could give on that point. One would think it scarcely possible
that so penitential a chant could form the usual musical accompaniment
to Sunday Mass! A teacher of music from a neighboring glen used to
come over from time to time to practise the singers.

"I mind weel," said Bell, "he had a wand and a tunin' fork." Are these
not the recognized signs of ability, all the world over, to conduct a
band of singers? The practices were held in the priest's house;
sometimes the pastor would join in the singing, although Bell naïvely
remarked on that point:

"He hadna much ear for music, ye ken."

Of the priest of that day, "Mr." McGillivray, as the old style of
address ran, more will be said later. The figure next in prominence to
him in Bell's recollections was the old sacristan, Robbie Benzie. For
many years he acted as "clerk" at the altar, continuing to carry out
his duties when well advanced in years. During the week he carried on
his trade of weaver; on Sundays he was at his post betimes, carrying a
lantern with him, from which he took the light for the altar candles.
Bell describes him as a stalwart man with fine features and dark eyes.
Clad in his green tartan plaid, he always accompanied the priest round
the little chapel with the holy water for the Asperges, and with his
"lint-white locks" flowing onto his neck, he used to appear in Bell's
eyes "a deal mair imposin' lookin' ner the priest himsel'." His modest
and respectful bearing gained him the esteem of all. "I always think
of him," said Bell, "as one o' the saints of th' olden times, ye ken.
He was the model of a guid Catholic--pious, hard-workin', and aye happy
and contented."