grave o' yer predecessor, honest man, an' I hae leeved a' my days
juist ower the wa' frae the kirk."

"But then they say, Saunders," said the minister, smilingly, "'the
nearer the kirk the farther frae grace.'"

"'Deed, minister," said Saunders, "Grace Kissock is a nice bit
lassie, but an' Jess will be no that ill in a year or twa, but o'
a' the Kissocks commend me till Meg. She wad mak' a graund wife.
What think ye, minister?"

Mr. Welsh relaxed his habitual severe sadness of expression and
laughed a little. He was accustomed to the sudden jumps which his
man's conversation was wont to take.

"Nay," he said, "but that is a question for you, Saunders. It is
not I that think of marrying her."

"The Lord be thankit for that! for gin the minister gaed speerin',
what chance wad there be for the betheral?"

"Have you spoken to Meg herself yet?" asked Mr. Welsh.

"Na," said Saunders; "I haena that, though I hae made up my mind
to hae it oot wi' her this verra nicht--if sae it micht be that ye
warna needin' me, that is--" he added, doubtfully, "but I hae guid
reason to hope that Meg--"

"What reason have you, Saunders? Has Margaret expressed a
preference for you in any way?"