reekit rags o' him!"

But it was only Ebie Farrish that had him by the roll of ancient
cloth which served as a collar for Jock's coat. When he was pulled
from under the peats and set upon his feet, he gazed around with a
bewildered look.

"O man, Ebie Farrish," he said solemnly, "If I didna think ye war
the deil himsel'--ye see what it is to be misled by ootward
appearances!"

There was a shout of laughter at the expense of Ebie, in which Meg
thought that she heard an answering ripple from within Winsome's
room.

"Surely, Jock, ye were never prayin' to the deil?" asked Meg from
the window, very seriously. "Ye ken far better than that."

"An' what for should I no pray to the deil? He's a desperate
onsonsy chiel yon. It's as weel to be in wi' him as oot wi' him
ony day. Wha' kens what's afore them, or wha they may be behaudin'
to afore the morrow's morn?" answered Jock stoutly.

"But d'ye ken," said John Scott, the theological herd, who had
quietly "daundered doon" as he said, from his cot-house up on the
hill, where his bare-legged bairns played on the heather and short
grass all day, to set his shoulder against the gable end for an
hour with the rest.

"D'ye ken what Maister Welsh was sayin' was the new doctrine amang