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‘Here’s yin to speak wi’ ye, Mr. Haddie!’ cries the old wife.

And M’Brair, opening the door and entering, found the little, round, red man seated in one chair and his feet upon another. A clear fire and a tallow dip lighted him barely. He was taking tobacco in a pipe, and smiling to himself; and a brandy-bottle and glass, and his fiddle and bow, were beside him on the table.

‘Hech, Patey M’Briar, is this you?’ said he, a trifle tipsily. ‘Step in by, man, and have a drop brandy: for the stomach’s sake! Even the deil can quote Scripture–eh, Patey?’

‘I will neither eat nor drink with you,’ replied M’Brair. ‘I am come upon my Master’s errand: woe be upon me if I should anyways mince the same. Hall Haddo, I summon you to quit this kirk which you encumber.’

‘Muckle obleeged!’ says Haddo, winking.

‘You and me have been to kirk and market together,’ pursued M’Brair; ‘we have had blessed seasons in the kirk, we have sat in the same teaching-rooms and read in the same book; and I know you still retain for me some carnal kindness. It would be my shame if I denied it; I live here at your mercy and by your favour, and glory to acknowledge it. You have pity on my wretched body, which is but grass, and must soon be trodden under: but O, Haddo! how much greater is the yearning with which I yearn after and pity your immortal soul! Come now, let us reason together! I drop all points of controversy, weighty though these be; I take your defaced and damnified kirk on your own terms; and I ask you, Are you a worthy minister? The communion season approaches; how can you pronounce thir solemn words, “The elders will now bring forrit the elements,” and not quail? A parishioner may be summoned to-night; you may have to rise from your miserable orgies; and I ask you, Haddo, what does your conscience tell you? Are you fit? Are you fit to smooth the pillow of a parting Christian? And if the summons should be for yourself, how then?’

Haddo was startled out of all composure and the better part of his temper. ‘What’s this of it?’ he cried. ‘I’m no waur than my neebours. I never set up to be speeritual; I never did. I’m a plain, canty creature; godliness is cheerfulness, says I; give me my fiddle and a dram, and I wouldna hairm a flee.’

‘And I repeat my question,’ said M’Brair: ‘Are you fit–fit for this great charge? fit to carry and save souls?’

‘Fit? Blethers! As fit’s yoursel’,’ cried Haddo.

‘Are you so great a self-deceiver?’ said M’Brair. ‘Wretched man, trampler upon God’s covenants, crucifier of your Lord afresh. I will ding you to the earth with one word: How about the young woman, Janet M’Clour?’

‘Weel, what about her? what do I ken?’ cries Haddo. ‘M’Brair, ye daft auld wife, I tell ye as true’s truth, I never meddled her. It was just daffing, I tell ye: daffing, and nae mair: a piece of fun, like! I’m no denying but what I’m fond of fun, sma’ blame to me! But for onything sarious–hout, man, it might come to a deposeetion! I’ll sweir it to ye. Where’s a Bible, till you hear me sweir?’

‘There is nae Bible in your study,’ said M’Brair severely.

And Haddo, after a few distracted turns, was constrained to accept the fact.

‘Weel, and suppose there isna?’ he cried, stamping. ‘What mair can ye say of us, but just that I’m fond of my joke, and so’s she? I declare to God, by what I ken, she might be the Virgin Mary–if she would just keep clear of the dragoons. But me! na, deil haet o’ me!’

‘She is penitent at least,’ says M’Brair.

‘Do you mean to actually up and tell me to my face that she accused me?’ cried the curate.

‘I canna just say that,’ replied M’Brair. ‘But I rebuked her in the name of God, and she repented before me on her bended knees.’