Sanders went twice to church every Sabbath, and thrice when he got the chance. There was no man who joined so lustily in the singing or looked straighter at the minister during the prayer. I have heard the minister say that Sanders's constant attendance was an encouragement and a help to him. Nanny had been a great church-goer when she was a maiden, but after her marriage she only went in the afternoons, and a time came when she ceased altogether to attend. The minister admonished her many times, telling her, among other things, that her irreligious ways were a distress to her husband. She never replied that she could not go to church in the forenoon because Sanders insisted on a hot meal being waiting him when the service ended. But it was true that Sanders, for appearance's sake, would have had her go to church in the afternoons. It is now believed that on this point alone did she refuse to do as she was bidden. Nanny was very far from perfect, and the reason she forsook the kirk utterly was because she had no Sabbath clothes. She died as she had lived, saying not a word when the minister, thinking it his duty, drew a cruel comparison between her life and her husband's. "I got my first glimpse into the real state of affairs in that house," the doctor told me one night on the brae, "the day before she died 'You're sure there's no hope for me?' she asked wistfully, and when I had to tell the truth she sank back on the pillow with a look of joy." Nanny died with a lie on her lips. "Ay," she said, "Sanders has been a guid man to me." CHAPTER XIII MAKING THE BEST OF IT Hendry had a way of resuming a conversation where he had left off the night before. He would revolve a topic in his mind, too, and then begin aloud, "He's a queer ane," or, "Say ye so?" which was at times perplexing. With the whole day before them, none of the family was inclined to waste strength in talk; but one morning when he was blowing the steam off his porridge, Hendry said, suddenly-- "He's hame again." The women-folk gave him time to say to whom he was referring, which he occasionally did as an after-thought. But he began to sup his porridge, making eyes as it went steaming down his throat. "I dinna ken wha ye mean," Jess said; while Leeby, who was on her knees rubbing the hearthstone a bright blue, paused to catch her father's answer. "Jeames Geogehan," replied Hendry, with the horn spoon in his mouth. Leeby turned to Jess for enlightenment. "Geogehan," repeated Jess; "what, no little Jeames 'at ran awa?" "Ay, ay, but he's a muckle stoot man noo, an' gey grey." "Ou, I dinna wonder at that. It's a guid forty year since he ran off." "I waurant ye couldna say exact hoo lang syne it is?" Hendry asked this question because Jess was notorious for her memory, and he gloried in putting it to the test. "Let's see," she said. "But wha is he?" asked Leeby. "I never kent nae Geogehans in Thrums."