The vision of her eight-year-old grandson going forth, like a young David, to war against the Presbyterian stronghold, brought back Madam Flemington's good-humour. "Ye may smile, madam," said Duthie, plunged deeper into the vernacular by agitation, "ay, ye may lauch. But it ill beseems the grey hair on yer pow." Irony always pleased her and she laughed outright, showing her strong white teeth. It was not only Archie and the Kirk that amused her, but the whimsical turn of her own fate which had made her hear such an argument from a man. It was not thus that men had approached her in the old days. "You are no flatterer, Mr. Duthie, as I said before." He looked at her with uncomprehending eyes. A shout, as of a boy playing outside, came through the window, and a bunch of cattle upon the slope cantered by with their tails in the air. Evidently somebody was chasing them. "Let me hear about Archie," said the lady, recalled to the main point by the sight. "Madam, I would wish that ye could step west to the manse wi' me and see the evil abomination at my gate. It would gar ye blush." "I am obliged to you, sir. I had not thought to be put to that necessity by one of your cloth." "Madam----" "Go on, Mr. Duthie. I can blush without going to the manse for it." "An evil image has been set up upon my gate," he continued, raising his voice as though to cry down her levity, "an idolatrous picture. I think shame that the weans ganging by to the schule should see it. But I rejoice that there's mony o' them doesna' ken wha it is." "Fie, Mr. Duthie! Is it Venus?" "It has idolatrous garments," continued he, with the loud monotony of one shouting against a tempest, "and a muckle crown on its head----" "Then it is not Venus," observed she. "Venus goes stripped." "It is the Pope of Rome," went on Mr. Duthie; "I kent him when I saw the gaudy claes o' him and the heathen vanities on his pow. I kent it was himsel'! And it was written at the foot o' him, forbye that. Ay, madam, there was writing too. There was a muckle bag out frae his mou' wi' wicked words on it! 'Come awa' to Babylon wi' me, Mr. Duthie.' I gar'd the beadle run for water and a clout, for I could not thole that sic' a thing should be seen." "And you left the Pope?" said Madam Flemington. "I did," replied the minister. "I would wish to let ye see to whatlike misuse Airchie has put his talents." "And how do you know it was Archie's work?" "There's naebody hereabouts but Airchie could have made sic' a thing. The beadle tell't me that he saw him sitting ahint the whins wi' his box of paint as he gae'd down the manse road, and syne when he came back the image was there."