"The Prince of the power of the air. Oh yes, and he shall not be
loosed till the occasion be over. I hef had a sign." After which
conversation on the weather languished.

Perhaps the minister fared worse in an attempt to extract a
certificate of efficiency from Lachlan Campbell in favour of a
rhetorical young preacher.

"A fery nice speaker, and well pleased with himself. But I would be
thinking, when he wass giving his images. Oh yes, I would be
thinking. There was a laddie feeshing in the burn before my house,
and a fery pretty laddie he wass. He had a rod and a string, and he
threw his line peautiful. It wass a great peety he had no hook, for
it iss a want, and you do not catch many fish without a hook. But I
shall be glad that you are pleased, sir, and all the elders."

These were only passing incidents, and left no trace, but the rebuke
Donald gave to Burnbrae will be told while an elder lives. One of
the last of the old mystical school, which trace their descent from
Samuel Rutherford, had described the great mystery of our Faith with
such insight and pathos, that Donald had stood by the table weeping
gently, and found himself afterwards in the manse, he knew not how.

The silence was more than could be borne, and his former
responsibility fell on Burnbrae.

"It wes wonnerful, and I canna mind hearing the like o' yon at the
tables; but I wes sorry to see the Doctor sae failed. He wes bent
twa fad; a' doot it's a titch o' rheumatism, or maybe lumbago."