"’Who hath woe? who hath sorrow? who hath contentions? who hath babbling? who hath wounds without cause? who hath redness of eyes?’ Ah, my friends, now that I have addressed each section of the community, each member of the family circle, now we come to the little babes—those tender flowers—those blossoms along the rough roadway of life—smiling upon us like the rainbows of the morning—and bedewing the earth with their consecrated tears. When I behold those gems of purest ray serene," continued the Minister, in his elevated chant, "my soul is filled with misgivings and sad prognostications. I observe in my daily walk the example that is set before them; the fathers in Israel are a stumbling-block to their own children; nay, even of the wisest it has been said, ’The priest and the prophet have erred through strong drink, they are swallowed up of wine, they are out of the way through strong drink; they err in vision, they stumble in judgment.’ My friends, is it not a terrible thing to think of these blessed babes—these innocent tendrils sprouting up into glorious flowers, even as the Rose of Sharon and the lily of the valley—to think of them babbling with red mouths curses they cannot comprehend? Hold them back, I say! Snatch the fatal goblet from them! Let pleasure wave her ambrosial locks when and where she pleases—let mirth and joy prevail—but when the timbrel sounds and the cymbal is heard in the hall—then, at all events let those innocent ones be restrained from the deadly snare—keep, oh, keep the little children from the ruby wine!" Unluckily this last appeal was addressed to Mary herself, or at least she thought so in her fright when she found the Minister’s eyes turned towards her: instantly she bobbed her head down in the heather, and remained hidden there until the sermon—or perhaps it was a temperance lecture?—was ended. It did not last much longer. After the sonorous sentences had ceased, there was a moment’s silence; then a grating on the beach; then a measured sound of oars: she concluded that the Minister, his flowery harangue rehearsed, was now making for home again; and she was free to get up from her concealment and return to Lochgarra House. "Käthchen," she said, "the Minister has come back. I have seen him—though I—I, didn’t speak to him. Now don’t you think we ought to go along and make his acquaintance at once? He might help us: you say yourself the Free Church Ministers have an enormous influence in the Highlands." Kate Glendinning did not receive this proposal with any great enthusiasm. "There is one thing he might do," said she, "as I told you before, Mamie. It would be much easier for us to go and see Mr. Ross, if the Minister would take us under his escort." "Mr. Ross!" said Mary, impatiently. "It is Mr. Ross, and Mr. Ross, with you from morning till night, Käthchen! You would think he owned the whole place!" "Yes," said Käthchen, demurely, "that is just what he seems to do."