It's a vera stiff brae, an' ere we wan up to the kirk, it was gyaun upon eleyven o'clock. "Hooever," says the mannie, "we'll be in braw time; it's twal ere the sattlement begin, an' I'se warran they sanna apen the kirk-doors till's till than." So we tak's a luik roun' for ony kent fowk. They war stannin' aboot a'gate roun' aboot the kirk, in scores an' hunners, fowk fae a' the pairis'es roun' aboot, an' some fae hyne awa' as far doon's Marnoch o' the tae han' an' Kintore o' the tither, aw believe; some war stampin' their feet an' slappin' their airms like the yauws o' a win'mill to keep them a-heat; puckles wus sittin' o' the kirk-yard dyke, smokin' an' gyaun on wi' a' kin' o' orra jaw aboot the minaisters, an' aye mair gedderin' in aboot--it was thocht there wus weel on to twa thoosan' there ere a' was deen. An' aye a bit fudder was comin' up fae the manse aboot fat the Presbytery was deein--they war chaumer't there, ye see, wi' the lawvyers an' so on. "Nyod, they maun be sattlin' 'im i' the manse," says ane, "we'll need a' gae doon an' see gin we can win in." "Na, na," says anither, "a bit mair bather aboot thair dissents an' appales bein' ta'en; muckle need they care, wi' sic a Presbytery, fat they try. But here's Johnny Florence, the bellman, at the lang length, I'se be at the boddom o' fat they're at noo." And wi' that he pints till a carlie comin' across the green, wi' a bit paper in's han', an' a gryte squad o' them 't hed been hingin' aboot the manse-door at's tail. "Oo, it's Johnny gyaun to read the edick," cries a gey stoot chap, an' twa three o' them gya a roar o' a lauch.... "Speek oot, min!" cries ane. "I think ye mith pronunce some better nor that, Johnny," says anither; an' they interrupit 'im fan he was tryin' to read wi' a' kin' of haivers, takin' the words oot o's mou, an' makin' the uncoest styte o't 't cud be.