Yet in the class of Miss Semple, that excellent woman and good teacher of youth, there was one scholar who that Sunday had heard to profit. It was Cleg Kelly. He carried home little Chris Cullen on his shoulders, and if no angel stirred the waters of the gutter puddles as these two went their way, and if no immediate healing resulted, both Chris and Cleg were the better for the lesson of the troubling of the waters. Even Samson Langpenny did not go to Hunker Court that day in vain, for he went along with Chris and Cleg part of the way home. Pride was not among Samson's failings, and, as we know, bashfulness was equally absent from the black catalogue of the sins of our hero. "What for are you carrying Chris?" asked Samson Langpenny, who, though he had many weaknesses, had also large and sufficient virtues of earnestness and self-sacrifice. "Weel, ye see, sir," said Cleg, trotting alongside cheerily, his burden upon his shoulders, "it's true that Chris can gang himsel'. But ye ken yersel' gin the laddies are verra ceevil when they get oot o' schule. They micht knock the wee yin ower. But when he is up on my shoothers, they juist darena. My certes, but I wad like to fa' acquaint wi' the yin that wad as muckle as lift a 'paver' to him. I wad 'paver' him!" The superintendent smiled, though as a general rule he deprecated an appeal to arms. Cleg had also a little sound advice to offer his superior. "Ye dinna lick aneuch in your schule, Maister!" continued Cleg, for he was unselfishly desirous that everyone should succeed in the sphere of life to which Providence had called him. He did not, it is true, see any great reason for a man's having taken to keeping Sunday school. Summer treats in the country might surely have been given without them—likewise tea _soirées_. But since these things had been mixed up together, the instruction part, however unnecessary, should certainly be carried out in a workmanlike fashion. "Not lick enough?" queried the superintendent, aghast. He thought he could not have heard aright—the pest of Hunker Court counselling corporal punishment! "Aye, an' div ye ken," Cleg went on, "div ye ken I can tell ye, wha ye could get to keep the laddies as quaite as pussy." The superintendent looked at the rebel Head Centre of Hunker Court, bending with the weight of Chris Cullen upon his shoulders. It did not strike him that Cleg might also be able to support his own crippled steps upon his willing heathen shoulders. "What would you advise?" he asked at last, with a certain pathetic humility. "There's a maister at oor day schule that's awsome handy wi' the taws, an a' the laddies are feared o' him. He comes to your kirk—I hae seen him gang in the door. Ye micht get him for a teacher in yer Sabbath schule! Then the boys wad hae to be quaite. His name's MacRobb." "Why would the boys have to be quiet then?" said Samson Langpenny, who did not yet understand what his ragged mentor was driving at.