"Keep within the bounds, my boy," said the minister. "See, lead Roger down to yon little pool, and let him drink. The poor animal is thirsty and wayworn. Then we will make what haste we can into the city, which will of necessity be in somewhat of a turmoil to-night, owing to the many strangers within her gates." "Father, will there be a great crowd and a noise in Edinburgh?" asked the little Agnes, somewhat timidly and holding yet more closely by her father’s hand. "There will be a crowd, my daughter, but no unseemly noise, I trust. The occasion upon which the nation is assembled in her ancient capital is too solemn for vain clamourings," said the minister, somewhat sadly; and as his eyes once more roamed over the spreading roof-trees of the city, they were filled with tears. The little Agnes, too young to understand the cause of his emotion, still more closely clasped his hand, and looked with awe into his face. "I wish it would not grow dark so soon, father," said David, now returning from watering the pony. "We will see nothing of Edinburgh till to-morrow." "But to-morrow, please the Lord, there will be a sight seen in Edinburgh, the like of which there has never been in Scotland," said the minister with kindling eye. "The voice of her people raised in a national testimony against the injustice and oppression of an earthly ruler. May the Heavenly King look down in approval on the faithfulness of the Kirk of Scotland, and give her strength to stand firm to her vow; ay, to seal it if need be with her blood." The minister spoke with solemnity and passionate earnestness, which impressed his young listeners not a little. "Father, will the soldiers be out on their horses?" David asked with boyish eagerness; to him the great event to transpire on the morrow meant a gay pageant to delight the eye and stir the pulse of youth.