They were all walking abreast in a leisurely Sunday fashion up the loch; the children roaming about the skirts of the older party, some in front and some behind, occasionally making furtive investigations into the condition of the brambles, an anti-Sabbatical occupation which was sharply interrupted when found out--the women picking their steps along the edges of the muddy road, with now and then a word of pleasant gossip, while the men trudged on sturdily through the puddles, discussing the great subject of the day. “Some of the new folk from the Castle were in the kirk to-day,” said one of the party,--“which is a respect to the parish the Earl doesna pay himself. Things are terrible changed in that way since my young days. The auld Earl, this ane’s father, was an elder in the Kirk; and gentle and simple, we a’ said our prayers thegether--” “I dinna approve of that expression,” said Eben of Barnton. “To speak of saying your prayers in the kirk is pure papistry. Say your prayers at hame, as I hope we a’ do, at the family altar, no to speak of private devotions,” said this defender of the faith, with a glance at the unlucky individual who had just spoken, and who was understood not to be so regular in the article of family prayer as he ought to have been. “We gang to the kirk to have our minds stirred up and put in remembrance. I dinna approve of the English fashion of putting everything into the prayers.” “Weel, weel, I meant nae harm,” said the previous speaker. “We a’ gaed to the Kirk, was what I meant to say; and there’s the Queen, she aye sets a grand example. You’ll no find her driving off three or four miles to an English Chapel. I consider it’s a great respect to the parish to see Sir Thomas in the Castle pew.” “I would rather see him respect the Sabbath day,” said Eben Campbell, pointing out a little pleasure-boat, a tiny little cockleshell, with a morsel of snow-white sail, which just then appeared in the middle of the loch, rushing up beautifully before the wind, through the placid waters, and lighting up the landscape with a touch of life and motion. Young Colin was at Eben’s elbow, and followed the movement of his hand with keen eyes. A spark of jealousy had kindled in the boy’s breast--he could not have told why. He was not so horrified as he ought to have been at the sight of the boat disturbing the Sunday quiet; but, with a swell of indignation and resentment in his boyish heart, he thought of the difference between himself and the young visitor at the Castle. It looked symbolical to Colin. He, trudging heavily over the muddy, lengthy road; the other, flying along in that dainty, little, bird-like boat, with those white wings of sail, which pleased Colin’s eye in spite of himself, carrying him on as lightly and swiftly as heart could desire. Why should one boy have such a wonderful advantage over another? It was the first grand problem which had puzzled and embittered Colin’s thoughts.