"You've put your finger on the wrong, ma'am. Singing a psalm isna a thing fit to be done in your ain parlor on the Sunday. It is a' right in the Kirk, but it is a' wrang in the parlor." "How is that?" "You be to ask wiser folk than I am what's the differ. If you were singing the psalm o' the blessed Virgin itsel' and folk heard you, there would be no end o' the matter. You can sing without the piano, ma'am, it's the piano that's the blackguard on a Sunday." "Thank you, McNab, for warning me. I have not learned the ways of the country yet." "You'll never learn them, ma'am. They must be borned in ye, sucked in wi' your mither's milk, and thrashed into ye wi' your school lessons. Just gie them their ways, and stick to your ain. You can do that, McNab does. They are easy satisfied if it suits their convenience. Every soul in this house is at church but mysel', for I hae made collops the regular Sunday dinner, and no one but McNab can cook collops to suit Mrs. Traquair Campbell." "I am sure she would not keep you from church to make collops." "I am a Catholic, and she keeps me at home to make collops, to prevent me going to my ain church. God save us! she thinks she is keeping me from serving the devil." "So you are a Catholic?" "Glory be to God, I am a Catholic! Did you ever taste collops, ma'am?" "I never heard of them." "Weel, they arena bad, and when McNab makes them, they are vera good. I shall put a few mushrooms in them to-day for your sake." "Thank you!" "And you can sing twice as much the morn. I'm sure it is a thanksgiving to listen to you." Then the door closed, and Theodora closed the piano, put away her music, and went upstairs to dress for dinner. The thanksgiving was still in her heart, and she sang it with her soul joyfully, as she put on one of her most cheerful and beautiful costumes. It seemed natural and proper to do so, and without reasoning on the subject, she felt it to be in fit sympathy with her mood. Even when the churchgoers came home drabbled and dripping, and as cross and gloomy as if they had been to hear a Gospel that was bad news, instead of good news, she did not feel its incongruity with her environment, until her mother-in-law said: "You are very much over-dressed for the day, Dora." "It is God's day, and I dressed in honor of the day." "Then you should have gone to church to honor Him." Before his wife could reply, Robert made a diversion: "What did you think of the sermon, mother?" he asked. "It was a very strong sermon." "Who was the preacher?" asked Isabel. "Dr. Fraser of Stirling," said Robert. "Well, brother, I do not believe Dr. Robertson would have approved the sermon. It is not like his preaching." "It was an excellent sermon," reiterated Mrs. Campbell. "I hope all the uncovenanted present felt its weighty solemnity." She muttered, twice over, its awful text: "The wicked shall be turned into hell, and all the nations that forget God."