Dow, drucken, cursing, poaching--Rob Dow, to come to the kirk to
annoy the minister. Ay, he hadna been at that work for ten minutes
when Mr. Dishart stopped in his first prayer and ga'e Rob a look.
I couldna see the look, being in the precentor's box, but as sure
as death I felt it boring through me. Rob is hard wood, though,
and soon he was at his tricks again. Weel, the minister stopped a
second time in the sermon, and so awful was the silence that a
heap o' the congregation couldna keep their seats. I heard Rob
breathing quick and strong. Mr. Dishart had his arm pointed at him
a' this time, and at last he says sternly, 'Come forward.' Listen,
Joseph Cruickshanks, and tremble. Rob gripped the board to keep
himsel' frae obeying, and again Mr. Dishart says, 'Come forward,'
and syne Rob rose shaking, and tottered to the pulpit stair like a
man suddenly shot into the Day of Judgment. 'You hulking man of
sin,' cries Mr. Dishart, not a tick fleid, though Rob's as big as
three o' him, 'sit down on the stair and attend to me, or I'll
step doun frae the pulpit and run you out of the house of God,'"

"And since that day," said Hobart, "Rob has worshipped Mr. Dishart
as a man that has stepped out o' the Bible. When the carriage
passed this day we was discussing the minister, and Sam'l Dickie
wasna sure but what Mr. Dishart wore his hat rather far back on
his head. You should have seen Rob. 'My certie,' he roars,
'there's the shine frae Heaven on that little minister's face, and
them as says there's no has me to fecht.'"

"Ay, weel," said the U. P., rising, "we'll see how Rob wears--and
how your minister wears too. I wouldna like to sit in a kirk whaur
they daurna sing a paraphrase."